


Monarchy

by ImperatorSmugleaf



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Comments greatly appreciated, Daddy Issues, Everyone Has Issues, Exploration of moral grey areas, Family Drama, Fluffy at times, Lore knowledge assumed, No cost too great., Political conflict, Post-Embrace the Void Ending (Hollow Knight), Quality over Quantity, Relevant content warnings at the start of chapters, Sibling Bonding, Slightly philosophical at times, Slow but steady updates, Tags May Change, no seriously they all lived through the apocalypse they’re all messed up, very introspective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2020-12-15 23:30:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 78,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21026549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperatorSmugleaf/pseuds/ImperatorSmugleaf
Summary: In a ruined city left in the wake of the Infection, a tiny King seeks to right the wrongs of their predecessor and usher in a new age for Hallownest. Yet, being a King is hard, especially when one is juggling newfound godhood, the inability to speak, and is just figuring out how to feel emotions. Ghost doesn't know the first thing about running a kingdom, let alone running one well. Thankfully, they have their family to support them—the Hollow Knight, freed from their bindings, and their sister Hornet, ever the serious one. So long as they're with their siblings, Ghost is sure everything will turn out all right, right?Dark things lurk in the hidden corners of Hallownest, and the resurrection of a fallen kingdom is no small task. Threats from within and without are set to waylay the newest King, their family, and the citizens of Hallownest. Even without the Infection, Hallownest still teeters on the precipice. Ghost must learn to overcome these challenges if they are to secure their kingdom's safety—but with their own doubts and demons haunting them, will they truly be able to rise to the occasion? Only time will tell... But if they fail, it will not be for lack of trying.





	1. Lord of Shades, King of Hallownest

O sweet, sweet annihilation; that destruction of self, to give way to the collective—it was intoxicating. The Ghost of Hallownest ceased to be; the Siblings were no more. There was only the Lord of Shades. Again and again, its claws ripped through the ephemeral flesh of the forgotten Queen of Hallownest’s pantheon. Rip, tear, crunch. The nectar of its essence was like a taste of the sweetest honey as the Void consumed the light. Dragging down the Radiance into itself as she bled out her life, the Void murmured in satisfaction. Dark, dark, all was dark. There was never a time where it was not dark, and there never will be a time when dark will be not. Tendrils of black shot through the caves of Hallownest like a rushing stream, flooding through its caverns, stripping away all that was unique, all that was _not _Void. And then—

Then—

No.

This was not the way it was going to end. It would not trade Hallownest’s destruction at the hands of the light for the dark. The Lord of Shades would not allow it, or rather—the Ghost of Hallownest would not. Straining against itself, embroiled in mortal strife with the existence it now embodied, the consciousness of the Ghost tore itself away from the rest of the Void. Bereft of its Lord’s influence, the collective began to collapse. Siblings separated into siblings, Void into lesser Void. Distinctness returned. Gasping for air, its chest heaving, Ghost stared up at the distant ceiling of the Junk Pit, feeling drained beyond anything it had experienced ever before. Its legs aching, its mask pulsing with pain, its essence shuddering like static, Ghost brought its knees underneath itself, and then, with its nail, brought itself to a standing position. The Godseeker was no more—a blob of Void was all that remained. Ghost stared down at the puddle of darkness. It was not satisfied. Another life needlessly extinguished. One more too many.

With great effort, Ghost dragged itself—no, _themselves_ to the nearest bench and collapsed in it, their nail clanking against the cold metal. Sleep overtook them.

. . .

They awoke in the Royal Waterways. The stench of the sewers was oppressive, though the vessel did not have the nose to appreciate it. Nevertheless, it was dank and humid, which was enough for even a vessel to steer clear of it unless absolutely necessary. Ghost decided to escape the Waterways posthaste. They didn’t plan out anywhere to go in particular, but anywhere was better than being in the sewers. The only bugs which seemed to find it agreeable were Ogrim, the piliflips, and the flukes. Energized from their brief nap, Ghost ascended through the Waterways, finally coming out near the entrance underneath the Nailsmith’s now cold forge. Ghost immediately noticed a change in their surroundings. The husks and animated beasts which the Radiance had once held under her sway were silent, unmoving, as dead as they ought to be. Ghost cautiously approached one of the husks. Could it be true? Was it truly inert? The vessel prodded the husk with their nail. It did not react. It seemed the infection had left it. Ghost repeated the routine for every creature they could find in the immediate vicinity, with no variance in their results. Looking over the scene, Ghost felt an unfamiliar feeling rise up in its breast. It had not had much experience with emotions; even without trying to quash them, they were muted—such was the nature of a vessel. It felt good; the sight of vanquished foes and the knowledge that it had succeeded in freeing Hallownest’s denizens from the infection brought it pleasure. With its mask held high, Ghost began walking through the City of Tears with a spring in its step. It was drizzling as usual. The fine mist which perpetually rested in the city streets diffused the blue light from the lumafly lanterns throughout the whole city, bathing everything in a cool aquatic glow. Dark spires towered over everything on the ground level, stretching all the way up, even to the ceiling of the massive cavern. Ghost, now confident that they didn't need to be on high alert for potential threats, slowed their gait, and for the first time since they had first entered the City of Tears, looked around properly. A conception of something approaching the appreciation of beauty appeared in their mind, and they decided it was a good feeling.

Obviously, sightseeing could not last forever, even with Ghost’s duty complete. Eventually, Ghost decided to return to Dirtmouth, if for no other reason than to inform its residents that they had cleansed the infection. Ghost leisurely walked to the King’s station. It was dilapidated as always. Stones were falling out of the wall; water had pooled in the bottom floor; the once bustling center of transportation was a broken shadow of its former self. Ghost leaped up to the last functional stag station and rang the bell. After a small wait, the familiar sound of a rushing stag greeted Ghost. The Old Stag was there in a flesh. Inclining its head towards Ghost, it began to speak,

“Ah, it is quiet in the King’s Station, and indeed, the rest of Hallownest. I sense that the animated shells of those who once lived are now finally at rest. I assume you had something to do with this, little one?” Ghost nodded, and the Old Stag laughed. “I should have known! You are certainly the most extraordinary bug I have ever met, even in my long life. It is a great happiness to know that this old shell has seen the end of the infection. Now, where would you like me to carry you?” Ghost produced their map and tapped the marking for Dirtmouth. The Old Stag nodded.

“Dirtmouth it is! Climb aboard, little one. I shall bear you there in record time, in celebration of your victory!” And in a flash, the stag was off, with Ghost holding on for dear life.

. . .

Exiting the stagway building, Ghost immediately knew something was different. They felt a presence, a terribly old and powerful presence. Emotions they had never experienced washed over their mind like an ocean wave breaking on a rock. Anguish. Loss. Loneliness. Despair. Hope... Hatred—so much hatred. Their arm twitching towards their nail, Ghost began to approach the source of the disturbance. The Elderbug, waiting by the bench as always, politely waved to Ghost as they passed by. Ghost nodded in acknowledgment and hurried along their way. Dirtmouth was unchanged from their last visit. It was still empty; it was still cold and old. Zote was still blabbering on about nothing, even in the absence of his admirer. Nymm was still happily playing their accordion. Ghost exited Dirtmouth and headed for the well, anticipation settling itself in their chest. Leaping down into the well, Ghost headed down a familiar path, the emotions only getting stronger. The path to the Black Egg Temple was for the first time in a while, free from globs of infection. Not even a trace of their presence remained. Ghost felt that emotion rise up in its chest again, that one that felt good when they thought about how they accomplished their duty. New waves of foreign feelings quickly quashed it. Ghost drew their nail.

As they entered the Black Egg Temple, Ghost stopped dead in their tracks. Hornet was there, facing off against an immense beast. Its mask was larger than Ghost’s entire body, and their horns were serrated like giant mandibles. Their nail was pure white and gleaming with magical seals, driven into the ground before them. Even hunched over, with their faded grey cloak covering most of their body, they still dwarfed Hornet in size. It was the Hollow Knight: the sealed vessel… and their sibling. Ghost took a step forward, and both Hornet and the Hollow Knight’s heads snapped around to look at them. Hornet’s thread twitched anxiously as she quickly glanced between Ghost and the Hollow Knight, her needle gripped firmly. The Hollow Knight’s chains rattled as they took a lumbering step forwards. Hornet wheeled around to face them, her needle pointed threateningly at their throat. The Hollow Knight stared down at Hornet, their mask inscrutable. Tromp, tromp. They took several more steps forward, pushing past Hornet to get to Ghost. The two vessels stared at one another, their eye sockets meeting. Hornet kept her guard up, unsure what precisely was about to happen. The emotions that were overwhelming Ghost faded away, and were replaced by a concoction of even more.

Relief. Happiness. Gratitude. Something else that Ghost couldn’t pinpoint… The Hollow Knight’s mask inclined ever so slightly. It seemed that they had taken notice of the King’s Brand burned into Ghost’s mask, right at the crown of their head. Looking back down at Ghost, the Hollow Knight raised their nail—

Hornet was there in a flash, standing in front of Ghost with her needle held protectively in front of them both.

“I will slay you if you harm them!” She shouted. The Hollow Knight paused for a moment, then continued the motion, holding the nail so that its tip touched the ground. Then, ever so slowly, not taking its eyes off of Ghost, it got down on one knee. New thoughts, foreign thoughts, thoughts not of Ghost’s own mind caressed their consciousness.

_ **King. Lord. Worthy vessel. ** _ _ **Savior mine.** _ Ghost felt the tension flow out from their body as a new emotion of their own came to the forefront. Later, they would learn to call it pity. Marching up to the Hollow Knight, bypassing Hornet, Ghost tossed their arms around the older vessel in a hug.

_ Sibling, _ Ghost answered. _ Sibling, sibling, sibling. _ After what felt like an eternity, Ghost felt an arm hesitantly snake around to return the hug. Hornet stood back respectfully. Eventually the two vessels broke away from one another. Ghost turned to their half-sibling.

“It is done, then? The infection—you’ve ended it?” Ghost nodded. “Then you are truly the savior of Hallownest. We are all in your debt.” Hornet bowed respectfully to Ghost in thanks. The little vessel took several steps towards Hornet, arms outstretched. She backpedaled.

“Ah—no hugs, please.” Ghost tilted their head to the side, questioning her. “I don’t do hugs.” Ghost shrugged. If she wanted to miss out, then that was her choice. Hornet turned around to look at the now uninfected Crossroads through the temple’s entrance.

“What will you do now?” Hornet asked Ghost. They looked down for a moment, thinking, then pulled out their map. They moved over so both Hornet and the Hollow Knight could see, and pointed to the pin which marked the hot spring in the Crossroads. Hornet nodded.

“A fine choice. You both seem in need of a rest.” Ghost stowed away their map and looked up at Hornet, tilting their head again, an unspoken question.

“You wish to know what I will do?” Ghost nodded. Hornet thought to herself. Finally, she answered, “I think I shall return to Deepnest, and the Hidden Village. Rightfully, I am their Queen...” She trailed off towards the end, seemingly speaking more to herself than the vessels. Ghost took a step forward and placed a hand on her cloak.

“Hmm? Oh, no. It is nothing, little Ghost—just a passing thought, is all. With the infection gone, and two capable creatures returned to its service, it seems that Hallownest no longer has need for a defender like me.” Ghost gripped Hornet’s cloak more firmly. Hornet knelt down to be level with the vessel. “Do you not wish me to leave?” Ghost shook their head. A warmth budded in Hornet’s chest, and she reached out to gently cup the side of Ghost’s mask.

“Do not fret, little Ghost. I shall never be far. Besides...” The princess stood. “A courtly life is no life for me. I would die if I were stuck in one place for too long. And what better cause to escape the web of rulership than to visit my...” The words caught in Hornet’s throat. “...Siblings.” The Hollow Knight’s chains rattled, and Hornet suddenly felt a massive appendage pull her to their chest.

“W-wait! Hollow!” The gendered child sputtered in surprise as their taller sibling embraced her. Their masks and horns clacked together and Hollow bumped their mask against Hornet’s. She soon felt two smaller arms wrap around her midsection, as Ghost hugged her also.

“Siblings!” She pleaded. They did not release her grip. Hornet squirmed, but failed to escape the onslaught of affection from her mute half-family. Eventually, she sighed and accepted her fate, waiting to be released. That warmth in her chest pulsed with gratitude. She could not deny that it felt… nice.

It would be a long time before at last the two knights stepped back, freeing Hornet. Dusting off her cloak, Hornet stood back from Ghost and Hollow.

“I take my leave. Please be well, siblings.” Not a moment later, Hornet was off, zipping and dashing through Hallownest’s caverns back to the Deepnest. The two vessels watched her go. Once she was out of sight, Hollow looked down to their sibling.

_ **Hot spring?** _

. . .

Ghost spent the next few days showing Hollow all around the kingdom, how it had changed in their absence, and showing them some areas even Hollow had not seen—like Hallownest’s Crown. The two were exploring the highest peak in all of Hallownest when they spied something bug-made in the rocky peak Ghost had forgotten was there: a tall, ancient statue to the Radiance. The smaller vessel inclined its head to look up at its sibling, who was staring up at the statue, unmoving. Ghost felt waves of emotion crash against them—anger, disgust, hatred, fear, and the like. Ghost reached out to Hollow, but the older knight was already advancing on the statue, its nail unsheathed.

_ Calm, calm, sibling, peace, _Ghost tried to soothe, but Hollow did not answer. With a low chittering growl from deep within, Hollow raised their nail high and struck the statue, sending fragments flying and dust bursting from the wounds. Again and again Hollow rent apart the statue with mighty blows, not ceasing even when it had toppled over. Only when the statue was completely unrecognizable and crushed into indistinguishable bits of rock did Hollow finally lower their nail. The pure blade clattered to the ground as Hollow dropped to their knees, inky black waterfalls of void staining their mask beneath their eye sockets. The fingers of hollow’s remaining hand clenched the rock below, cracking it from the force. Ghost rushed to their sibling’s side, cooing and plying the weeping vessel with honeyed thoughts and feelings of comfort. Hollow dropped to their side and curled up on the ground, cradling their mask in their hand. Ghost embraced their mask and pressed their own against it, their horns clacking together piteously.

Eventually Hollow brought themselves back to their knees and stood up, giving a piece of rock by their foot a final kick of disdain.

_ **Better**_, they declared. _ **Next place?** _ Ghost nodded. It was definitely time to leave.

. . .

It was not long before the two siblings had traversed the length and breadth of the kingdom. They had visited the White Lady, who was overjoyed to see both of them safe and sound, and bade them come again soon; they had visited their siblings in the Abyss, although it pained their shades to be the odd ones out; they visited the Blue Lake, where Ghost put a few more flowers at the memorial they had constructed around Quirrel's sword; they even returned to Kingdom's Edge and visited the corpse of their father. Hollow had sat by the Wyrm's cast-off shell for a long time, their thoughts inscrutable even to Ghost, and their emotions a whirlwind of disarray. Under Ghost’s guidance and care, Hollow had regained much of their strength, and thensome. (Mato was overjoyed at the opportunity to “adopt” another son.) Finally, once there was nowhere else to explore, the vessels decided to visit their sister in Deepnest. What else was there to do? It wasn’t like they had a home to go back to; their birthplace was only that. It was difficult getting Hollow through the caves, but eventually the pair came to the Beast’s Den, where Ghost assumed they would find Hornet. The strange nest-like building was covered in webs and ancient furniture, just as Ghost had found it previously. Yet, there was evidence of habitation: the furniture was free from dust, and several blooming flowers rested in a vase on a table. Ghost stepped into the main atrium and looked up towards the entrance to the maze-like Beast’s Den, and was greeted by a tall creature with a large, bulbous head, the likes of which Ghost had only seen once before. It was a weaver: the last living weaver in Hallownest. It scuttled down towards the pair and stood a ways away from them. It was a prudent choice, given vessels’ tendency to swing first, ask questions later.

“Queen Hornet has been expecting you,” said the weaver. “Custom dictates that you meet her in her throne room, but she has made an exception for you, on account of your size.” It gestured to Hollow, who stared back impassively. “Please make yourselves comfortable.” And the weaver crawled off to Wyrm knows where to inform Hornet of their arrival. Ghost walked up to the table with the flowers on it and sat in a chair. Hollow trundled behind them, and with a measured precision, bent down into a sitting position. Together they waited, staring straight ahead. Even though they were free to express their budding emotions as they saw fit, old habits were hard to break, and vessels were not known for being particularly animated or fidgety.

After a brief wait, Hornet dropped down from above and quietly walked towards her siblings. Their heads snapped over to her as soon as she entered their view and tracked her movements as she made her salutations. Pulling up a chair for herself and sitting with a prim posture, Hornet began,

“I apologize for the state of our current meeting place, but we were never known for our tidiness here, what with the silk everywhere.” Her siblings shrugged in unison. Hornet noted with amusement that they were already beginning to adjust to the other’s habits and mannerisms. “Did you find the weaver agreeable? They’re one of my few true subjects, the others being Midwife and some of the stalking devouts who survived. Ghost remembered the devouts. Their shells were tough, hard to kill until they struck, exposing their weak spot. They chose not to draw attention to how many they must have killed traversing Deepnest.

“I suppose you’ve exhausted all of your sightseeing options?” The vessels nodded. Hornet reclined in her chair. “Then perhaps it is time for you to fill the mantle you’ve taken up,” she said, pointing to the king’s brand emblazoned proudly on Ghost’s mask. Ghost unconsciously brought up a hand to feel the place where the brand had burned itself into their shell. “Hallownest has been without a proper king for long. As the Wyrm’s progeny, and the bearer of the king’s brand, you are the rightful heir to the throne of Hallownest.” Ghost stared back blankly. “...Don’t let it go to your head,” Hornet added, seeing Ghost’s passivity. Hollow inclined their head towards their sibling. They sensed apprehension, uncertainty, reluctance. They could tell from the way Ghost’s hand hovered around their nail (a telltale sign they were stressed), how the void within them bubbled softly with discomfort. Hollow had picked up on many of Ghost’s subtle mannerisms in the time they had spent together, and Void understood Void. Hornet seemed to notice too, but she did not make a remark about it.

_ **Sibling?** _ Asked Hollow.

_ Unfit for kingship. Ignorant of rulership. Better as knight. Not good idea. Would fail; would bring ruin, _answered Ghost. Hollow churred and bumped their mask against Ghost’s, attempting to reassure them.

“You do not believe you would be a good king?” Hornet asked, mostly to confirm what she had already sensed. Ghost slowly shook their head. Hornet folded her hands over her lap. She could understand where they were coming from—they had no training in the art of rulership. The only experience they had of what royalty did was when their father visited them in the Abyss, and that didn’t have any grounding in what monarchs actually did on the day-to-day. Nevertheless…

“Hallownest is in shambles. The old ways have long since faded away, except in the minds of terribly old creatures like myself. You do not necessarily need to understand the finer points of monarchy—there are few who would be your subjects. It may be that you end up being king in title alone.” Ghost stared at her in that way they always did when they were listening, so Hornet continued, “I can’t imagine it would be much different than what you do now, going around and helping people as they need it, at least until the kingdom gets back on its feet. Perhaps you will need to help adjudicate decisions, or give your approval for various undertakings, but what bugs have survived are the ones who can begin the rebuilding process mostly unaided. They are a resourceful bunch.” That appeared to calm Ghost’s nerves. They bobbed their head side to side, mulling it over. Hollow bumped their mask against Ghost’s.

_ **Decision?** _ Ghost looked up to meet their gaze.

_ Perhaps kingship not so hard. _ Hollow placed their hand on the top of Ghost’s mask, affectionately rubbing it between the horns.

_ **Sibling will be good king.** _

. . .

Being a king was hard, especially when you were mute. For the time being, Hollow and Ghost had taken up residence in Lurien’s old spire. It was the highest tower in the entire city, so it only felt fitting. Hornet had offered to spread the word of Hallownest’s new ruler, which Ghost was grateful for. It meant they were able to spend more time figuring out what precisely a king was supposed to do. They scoured the archives for _ readable _ literature on kingship. They searched through the white palace contained in the dead kingsmould’s dream for anything that could give them a hint as to what they were supposed to do. Ghost found nothing but a new appreciation for corridors that didn’t have excessive amounts of sawblades. They tried getting advice from the White Lady, but she was cryptic as always.

"The sins of your sire weigh heavily on this land; they have stained the ground we walk. Will you rise above them? How will you make Hallownest in _your_ image? You must walk this road for yourself," she had said, which was of no help to Ghost, but they communicated their thanks anyway. Defeated, Ghost at last shuffled back to their makeshift domicile in one of the rooms in Lurien’s spire. Hollow kept in step behind them the entire way. The room was barren, as always. Hollow and Ghost had no need for furniture aside from a simple chair and several pillows to sleep on. Ghost took up the chair while Hollow stood next to them, resting their hand on their nail. Ghost looked up at their sibling.

_ Why alert? _ Hollow kept staring towards the door.

_ **Must guard king. Am still knight.** _ Ghost would’ve scoffed if they could.

_ No protection needed. Sit and rest. _ After several seconds, Hollow obeyed, sitting cross-legged on the ground next to Ghost. Even sitting, they still surpassed Ghost in height. The two remained there, resting, not speaking, just waiting for another idea to come to them. There was very little to do in Hallownest, but at the same time, _ everything _ needed to be done. The city needed to be rebuilt, new laws needed to be drafted, all that was lost needed to be recovered… Ghost unsheathed their nail and pulled out a cloth from under their cloak. They began to polish their nail, a habit they had recently picked up out of necessity; they needed to do _ something _ with their hands. Back before they had erased the infection, there were plenty of husks to keep them busy, but now? Ghost couldn’t go slashing innocent civilians… if there were any, at least. They could always train with the nailmasters or the mantis lords, but after a while, it just all blended into the same. They needed something _ different_, something _ new_.

The answer came in the form of a new sensation, like spotting a new island after weeks at sea. Ghost perked up. They felt a stirring in the void. Hollow sensed their sudden alertness.

_ **Sibling?** _ Ghost hopped off the chair and began walking out, prompting Hollow to stand up. _ **Sibling, explain.** _

_ Void is stirring. Something new. _ Ghost walked out into the hallway, still packed with rubble and the remnants of civilization, and started making their way down to the ground level.

_ **New?** _

_ New. Like same, yet different. _

_ **Description vague.** _

_Feeling is vague._ Leaping down in the way that vessels were wont to do, the siblings made quick time and reached the ground floor. Ghost strode through the room, covered in dilapidated furniture and decoration, littered with the husks they had felled and thensome, and emerged out into the courtyard where Hollow was memorialized. Standing there was a single bug, staring up at the memorial, a nail slung over their back. Ghost and Hollow stopped dead in their tracks. It stood several heads higher than Ghost, but was nowhere near as tall as Hollow. Their mask was white as bone, and their horns were asymmetrical: one curving upward, and the other bent off towards the side. They turned. Black eye sockets, revealing nothing but Void. It was undoubtedly another vessel. An adolescent, perhaps? Ghost knew that this was the source of the strange Void disturbance they had felt. Ghost now understood they were sensing the presence of another vessel; that was why it was so familiar. It made sense, of course—they were the Lord of Shades. Why wouldn’t they be able to connect with other Void beings like they could with Hollow? The strange vessel stared at Ghost and Hollow. The pair stared back, waiting to see who would make the first move.

A particularly heavy bout of rain lashed the vessels’ forms, but they stood unmoving. Although neither of them had actually said it, Hollow and Ghost both understood, up until this point, that they were most likely the last vessels left in existence. All others, they thought, had been left to rot in the Abyss, or fallen prey to the dangers which lurked in Hallownest. The appearance of this vessel was a revelation—they still had family, outside each other and Hornet. Finally, Ghost broke the silence.

_ Sibling? _ They asked, stepping forward, caressing the mind of this new arrival. The stranger seemed to release some tension they held in their body.

_ Lord, _ they answered. _ Felt a call. Came here. _ Ghost and Hollow shared a glance.

_ Call? _ Ghost questioned. Their new sibling nodded.

_Like Void wanted to be whole, to unite._ _Felt a pull._ Ghost looked down, thinking. They had to be talking about when Ghost ascended in Godhome, when they had achieved apotheosis… And if _this_ vessel had felt it and come back to Hallownest, it would follow that any other vessels still living would also seek to return… Ghost and Hollow shared a glance. It seemed that their family might be getting bigger awfully soon.

. . .

It started out as a few. Wandering vessels, called home by their Lord’s apotheosis, trickled in where Ghost found them and brought them back to the City of Tears. Soon, dozens of surviving vessels had taken up residence in Lurien’s spire, along with Ghost and Hollow. Hornet was beside herself.

“It seems our family is growing larger by the minute! How many vessels are there now? It’s getting hard to keep track of you all!” The huntress threw her hands up in exasperation. “I can’t make cloaks for all of you!”

Hornet had volunteered to make new cloaks for the arriving vessels. In her mind, it simply wouldn’t do to have a force of knights looking as old and ragged as the vessels did. Ghost had opposed her, not wanting to impose. They didn’t see the point of new cloaks, much to Hornet’s chagrin. The old ones were functional, no? Eventually, Hornet managed to wear them down enough to accept her offer, though she was unsure if Ghost did it merely to get her off their back. At any rate, it didn’t matter. They had settled on blue for the color, representative of the endless rain in the City of Tears, and Hornet had gotten to work. However, soon, Deepnest’s Queen found herself overwhelmed by the number of vessels she had to cloak, with more coming in.

“I need more hands,” Hornet said to Ghost. “If you want cloaks for your knights, you need to supply me with more workers, because the weaver and I can’t do this by ourselves.” Her sibling tilted their head, as if to say,

_ You were the bug who wanted this in the first place. _Hornet crossed her arms.

“Don’t give me that look! I’m doing you a favor, little Ghost. The least you could do is be grateful.” Ghost’s head returned to their normal angle. “That’s better. Now, do you have anyone you can send over?” Ghost placed a hand underneath their chin and looked up, a new expression for thinking they had learned somewhere. Hornet waited. Eventually, Ghost looked to Hornet and nodded.

“Good,” she said, “I’ll be waiting.”

Soon, Hornet had a crew of several vessels and a few _ very _ uneasy bugs under her and the weaver’s tutelage. Between the weaver’s expertise, and Hornet’s instruction (and less unsettling visage), soon her makeshift crew were churning out cloaks for the vessels at a much more acceptable pace.

_ The first trade agreement between Deepnest and Hallownest in a very long time, _ Hornet thought to herself as she worked. Glancing over at her workers, Hornet allowed herself a modicum of pride. In the old days, when Hallownest and Deepnest were at their prime, it would be unthinkable to have a weaver, a Hallownest bug, a royal, and a vessel all in the same room together, working as equals. It seemed the apocalypse had a way of smoothing out conflict. Hornet bobbed her head happily. Perhaps this would usher in a new era of cooperation between Deepnest and Hallownest? With her sibling at the helm, she dared to hope. If there was any time to bury the nail, it was now.

. . .

Along with vessels, bugs came too. Many wanderers from wastelands beyond appeared in Hallownest, some of which took up residence in Dirtmouth, and others made their home in the City of Tears. Yet others were still living in the City, just not in sight. Survivors of the infection, hidden from the husks, who had survived in their own way, were now beginning to reemerge. Ghost and the Blue Sentinels (which was what they had begun calling the vessels, now that they patrolled the streets in their new blue cloaks) received them well, giving them vacant housing near the center of the City, where their patrols were the strongest. True to Hornet’s prediction, the new citizens of Hallownest were able to get their feet back underneath them with little intervention needed. A basic bartering economy started to develop, and at Ghost’s prodding, and Hollow’s not-so-gentle encouragement that they should listen to Ghost, both Lemm and Sly opened up banks. (What else were they going to do with their respective mountains of geo?) Hornet even reported that her shop of weavers-in-training had received some requests, which they were happy to oblige (for geo, of course).

Under the watchful eye of the Blue Sentinels, Hallownest grew and grew. The menderbug guild came out of the shadows to start offering their services to those who could pay, in addition to generally fixing up the city. Now that the infection was gone, they had free reign to practice their arts all through Hallownest without fear, and they slowly began to fight back the dilapidation that had set in during the years where Hallownest was overrun by infection. When they weren’t patrolling, Ghost had their siblings help out in the city’s reconstruction efforts, or assisting the bugs of Hallownest with whatever they could. Only Hollow remained a constant fixture at Ghost’s side, and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

The first trouble came when there was a disagreement between one of the weaver students and another bug, who was a fisherman.

“My mate’s hatching day is by the end of the week, and they have been clamoring for a blanket for weeks, now. But I refuse to accept this! It is not at all what I wanted!”

“I created it to your specifications! It’s not my fault your instructions were vague!”

“My instructions were clear; you just didn’t understand them!”

“If you want a new blanket, you will have to pay!”

“I’m not giving you a geo more!”

They had been arguing like this for longer than Ghost cared to remember. One of the Sentinels had brought them in for Ghost to see, nevermind that Ghost _ couldn’t speak to them_. They didn’t seem to care, though. They seemed content to just argue, which Ghost was hoping for. It’d give Hollow time to complete the task Ghost had given them.

“King, please! I beseech you!” Cried the fisherman, “Surely you understand the injustice done upon me? Please, all I ask is that I will be able to give my mate a token of my love and appreciation!”

“Mighty King, this man would seek to deceive you!” Responded the weaver student. “I have provided him the services he paid for: nothing more, nothing less! Don’t let his greed win out!”

“How _ dare _ you accuse me of attempting to deceive our King!” And on they went. Ghost slowly inched their mask towards one of the Sentinels, coincidentally that same sibling which had arrived first, which the bugs had called “Tall Blue” on account of their size and cloak. (They were the first to get the new blue cloaks.) Eventually everyone ended up just calling them Blue, though.

_ Help, _ Ghost whispered to them. Blue reached for their nail. _ No, no! Joking! _They let their hand drop. Ghost sighed internally. Sometimes, they forgot just how literally their siblings would take their orders, and how… unimaginative they could be with their solutions. Hollow could take a joke, though… Ghost began to realize just how much they missed Hollow being by their side, even though they were just running an errand. Ghost hoped they would be back soon.

Suddenly, Ghost heard the solid, tell-tale tromping of Hollow’s gait, and their favored knight entered into the royal chamber. Seeing the Hollow Knight up close gave pause to the two belligerents’ argument, as both turned to stare up at the massive vessel in awe. Following close behind Hollow was none other than Hornet, her needle by her side.

“What do you need, King of Hallownest?” Ghost winced internally. Hornet always referred to Ghost by their actual title when they weren’t alone, which stung every time. The vessel had grown attached to Hornet’s throwaway moniker for them, to the point that they even identified themselves as such. Hornet was always terse and stoic, but when it was just them (and Hollow), she always showed Ghost a warmth and fondness they had not seen her reveal to anyone else—not even the other vessels, save Hollow.

Ghost helplessly gestured towards the pair of arguing bugs. The weaver student squeaked in surprise.

“Q-queen Hornet!” Hornet approached them, slinging her needle on her back.

“Thea,” responded the Queen of Deepnest. Then she looked to the fisherman. “And what is your name?” The fisherman stammered.

“G-gariel, your majesty.”

“Gariel, Thea, what issue would you have your King settle?” Hornet asked in that formal, queenly tone she took more and more often. Ghost disliked it. Why couldn’t Hornet be kind and warm all the time? Why was she so distant? Ghost held their arms behind their back.

Thea and Gariel started tripping over one another’s speech, each trying to give their own version of the events which led to them arguing in the middle of Ghost’s chambers. Hornet held up a hand to silence them.

“You will speak to me one at a time, and you will give the other the chance to speak before you do,” she ordered. Behind their back, Ghost clenched their fists. Both of them bowed their heads in apology and submission. Ghost wondered at Hornet’s ability to control them. Where Ghost was at a loss trying to control their subjects, and without any idea of how to help them, let alone actually _ communicate _ with them, Hornet was a natural at it. With only a few words, she had defused the situation, and gotten the two bugs under control. But each order, each spoken word, was like a nail twisting in Ghost’s shade. It pained them to see her so divorced from the comfort and warmth she had come to embody for them. It was hard for Ghost to reconcile Hornet the Queen of Deepnest and Hornet the Sibling whom they...

...how _did_ they feel about Hornet? They would have to ask Hollow about it later... That warm, fuzzy feeling in their chest whenever she showed up... And whenever Hollow returned from being away from Ghost's side, as well.

Soon, Hornet had Thea and Gariel apologizing to one another, and an agreement had been reached. Gariel would get his new blanket at a discount price; Thea would keep all the geo he had given her, and the first blanket as well, which she could sell to make up for the geo she would miss out on from the discount. The two went away not particularly happy, but unable to think of a better compromise. Ghost was relieved. Turning to the Sentinels who were standing guard in their chambers, Ghost projected,

_ Leave. _ So they did, so only Hollow, Hornet, and Ghost remained. The gendered child sighed.

“Do you have to deal with people like that often?” Ghost shook their head. Hornet knelt down and rubbed the top of Ghost’s mask, just between their horns, just the way she knew they liked it.

“Well, you should get used to it, little Ghost. You can only expect more people like them the more your kingdom grows.” Ghost didn’t particularly care about that at the moment; they were just happy Hornet was back to normal. They churred in contentment as Hornet continued to rub their mask.

“If only you had a voice, and could make more than simple sounds like that,” Hornet murmured, letting her mask droop.

_ **No voice to cry suffering** _, Hollow thought sorrowfully to themselves, their musings laid bare to Ghost. The small vessel shrugged, letting their shoulders slouch. Hornet gave them a pat on the head and stood up.

“If that is all, then I must be returning to Deepnest now. You really must figure out a way to solve these problems yourself, little Ghost—ah?” Ghost had hugged her again, burying their face in her cloak. Hornet stopped herself from recoiling, letting her arms fall to her sides. Slowly, she returned the hug.

“I miss you too, little Ghost,” she purred, allowing herself this small distraction from her duties. Hollow thumped over and gathered both of them in their arm, squeezing them tightly.

“Hrrk—! Yes, you too, Hollow, but—grk—could you please be a little gentler?” Hollow loosened their grip. “Much better. Thank you.”

. . .

If there was one thing Ghost had learned well from their ongoing stint as king, it was the art of delegation. Since they could not speak, they would just get others to do it for them. They had their Sentinels seek out bugs skilled in mediating conflict and coming to reasonable agreements. After some poking around in the ruins of the City, and several trips to Lemm’s shop, Ghost was able to gather some badges which judges used to wear as part of their uniform in the City’s heyday. Ghost had the Sentinels gather those they had selected and passed out each badge personally, with Lemm there to explain their significance. (The old man wasn’t willing at first, but Ghost promised him geo, which apparently was enough.) Most accepted their new stations with pride, but some chose instead to walk away. Ghost didn’t pursue them; there were enough new judges already. They gave the judges offices (really just repurposed rooms in the spire) in which they would be able to hear cases, and Sentinels to watch them, to make sure they weren’t abusing their power.

At first, the Sentinels would make their reports to Ghost personally, but Ghost found another way: if they Focused hard, they could see through the eyes of their sentinels, and hear through their ears. At first, it was hard; Ghost could only perceive through one, and only with great effort—but that didn’t dissuade them. As time passed, they grew better at this new technique, and eventually they were able to perceive through all of them at once. After more time, it wasn’t so taxing, and after a long and arduous process, Ghost was able to balance their perception through the Judicial Sentinels and their own consciousness. As they got used to the sensation, it became like background noise to them—always there, but not intrusive. Ghost wondered whether this was a power they only achieved on account of their apotheosis, or whether it was always within the strength of the Voidheart to do so. Oh, well. Wherever it came from, Ghost was happy to have it. They _ were _the Lord of Shades, after all. Although Ghost abhorred that brief moment of annihilating unity, they were happy to use their powers to connect with their siblings so long as it preserved the minds of all parties involved.

It was strange to think that they were a god. They didn’t _ feel _ like a god. From their experiences with gods, _ actual _ gods, like the Pale King and the Radiance and Grimm, _ real _ gods were regal, resplendent. They were extraordinary, and their very presence declared their power. They held themselves with a certain poise, a certain confidence that came with possessing power beyond that of any mere mortal. Ghost looked out on the sprawling City of Tears, sitting on top of the spire. They were unassuming; they were small; they couldn’t even _ speak_. Ghost leaned back, their mask hitting the tiles of the roof with a metallic _ thunk_. Rain from the constant drizzle flew into their eye sockets, but they didn’t care. A simple vessel shouldn’t have become a god—let alone the god of gods. Then again, vessels weren’t supposed to feel. Yet, here they were, caring for a family—what family they still had. Maybe they didn’t need to be so extravagant to be a god. Maybe they’d grow into it. Maybe it was the same for being a king?

Kingship was strange. It wasn’t just helping people and keeping the peace, like Hornet said it would be. It was being a figurehead; people looked to Ghost as some sort of exemplar of virtue, or figure to be adored or hallowed. But Ghost didn’t want that; they weren’t their father, and they had no desire to be _ like _ their father. Their father had imprisoned Hollow for gods know how long; their father had murdered most of their other siblings.

_ No cost too great… _Ghost thought to themselves.

Bugs parted where Ghost walked, bowing so low the front of their masks scraped along the ground, like the royal retainers in the dream of the White Palace. Ghost was treated with reverence and awe. It was jarring: before, they were nobody; now, _ everybody _ seemed to want to see the king, or speak with the king, or get counsel from the king, or… Ghost sighed deeply, their chest heaving. Unsheathing their nail, they lazily slashed through the air, sending waves of energy created by Grubberfly’s Elegy out towards a small flock of squits that had wandered too close to them. Every shot made its mark, and the rest of the squits scattered. Letting their nail arm fall to the ground, their nail hit the roof with a hollow-sounding _ clunk_, accompanied by a small splash of water.

Being a king wasn’t something you could check boxes off a list for. It wasn’t the aggregate of a series of gestures and actions. It was something that you had to _ feel_, something that you embodied. It was like a state of mind, or a kind of personality you entered into. That was how Ghost understood it. But how could a vessel, a creature designed to have _ no _personality, project the force of personality necessary to be a king? Ghost absentmindedly tossed a geo off the side of the tower, only for one of the members of the Gathering Swarm to quickly return it to them.

Questions, questions, and not an answer in sight.

Ghost slid down the slanted tiles, water flecking up in their wake, before leaping into the air to avoid the spikes on the edge of the roof. They fell through the open air. One, two, _dash_. With their cape billowing behind them, Ghost skidded to a stop on the floor of Lurien’s telescope room, dripping water all over the floor. Hollow was there waiting, as was Hornet.

“About time,” Hornet said. “Come on; you of all bugs should know the Mantis Lords don’t like to be kept waiting.” Hornet started making her way back to the elevator, and Hollow and Ghost followed suit.

_ **Good solitude?** _ Hollow asked. Ghost nodded. Whatever the answer was, Ghost knew they’d get there, so long as they had their family with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First fanfic in a while--I had an idea and I finally decided to swallow my pride and write it all out, and this was the result. More to come; stay tuned. I can't promise a consistent update schedule, but I /can/ promise updates will come. Eventually.
> 
> EDIT 10/17/19: Revised it a bit, fixed grammar issues and stuff like that. Added a few sentences, subtracted a few, nothing major. With luck the next installment should be sometime either this weekend or next week.  
EDIT 6/23/2020: Minor revisions, fixing small typos and stuff to make the writing flow better.


	2. Diplomacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ghost is bored, a family makes a friend, and gods do battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 6/23/2020: fixed minor typos and formatting errors and made some minor edits to improve consistency

The stasis in which for so long Hallownest had remained had ended with Ghost’s defeat of the Radiance. Life was beginning anew. Hornet knew that, but it was still strange to see children after all this time. Hollow and Ghost were especially interested in them. Ghost, it seemed, had never seen a juvenile bug, and Hollow’s only experience with children was with her, in the early stages of her life. However, after the fourth time they stopped to coo at a passing child, Hornet was rather fed up with them. She grabbed her siblings’ arms and yanked them away.

“We are going to see the Mantis Lords now, and you two are _not_ going to make us late because of your sudden fascination with children! You’ve already wasted enough time hiding on top of the Spire, Ghost. Don’t test my patience any further.” Heedless to her words, Ghost waved goodbye to the child they and Hollow had greeted. To their delight, it waved back. Ghost liked children—they weren’t so concerned with etiquette and form when interacting with them, like the adults, who were always tripping over themselves trying to show them reverence they didn’t need nor desire.

Only after they rounded the corner did Hornet release her siblings from her vice grip.

“You two are so insufferable sometimes,” she hissed, so that nobody could hear, even though no-one was within earshot. Hollow shrugged, while Ghost just kept walking by Hornet’s side. Their sister rolled her eyes.

“Do you even remember why we’re going to see the Lords?” Ghost nodded.

“Prove it.” From underneath their cloak, Ghost produced a letter with chicken-scratch handwriting and signed with the imprint of a claw. (It was as if the sender had dunked their claw in ink and just slapped it on the page). The letter was an invitation from the Mantis Lords to the “new and mighty King of Hallownest”, for a meeting where they “might draft new treaties and agreements for the mutual gain of the citizens of Hallownest and the lands beyond”. A mantis messenger had borne the letter to the city alone, and delivered the letter to Ghost themselves, escorted by several Sentinels—more for the mantis’s safety than the spectators’. For once, Ghost didn’t need to send for Hornet; she came of her own accord, bearing a letter of the same content.

“Clearly,” Hornet had said, “either the Mantis Lords believe they have more to gain by ending their isolationism than to lose, or they have some other motive for summoning us. Regardless, I do not think it would be wise to refuse this invitation.” On that, all three siblings had agreed, which was why Hornet was so _exasperated_ with her siblings for _taking their sweet time making their salutations to ANOTHER DAMN CHILD!_

. . .

Blue was walking down the street on their usual patrol route when an exasperated looking older bug stopped them. Her shell was dark blue, unpolished, and chipped in several places, as was the norm with commoners. Moreover, her face bore the weathered look of a bug who had seen too many winters.

“Excuse me, Sentinel?” Blue turned to face her. They were able to see eye to eye, on account of Blue’s height. The female bug wrung their hands and glanced away. That was a sign of anxiety—the Lord’s Knight had told them, back in the days when there were fewer vessels. Well, Blue had to remedy that. They stood up a little bit straighter, puffing their chest out so that they seemed stronger. That would reassure the lady, yes? The bug glanced at Blue’s chest.

“Oh! My apologies, Captain.” She looked down. That was shame. It seemed she had misinterpreted Blue’s gesture as them showing off the pin on their cloak denoting their rank. The vessel mentally kicked themselves for that. Blue held out their hands in a conciliatory gesture, and extended their arm, motioning for the lady to continue her story. Looking back up, she resumed,

“I’m sorry, but my daughter… Her pet is stuck on top of a lamppost, and we can’t get it down… would you possibly be able to help?” Blue nodded immediately. It was a welcome distraction from the monotony of patrol—not that vessels minded monotony (_do not think, do not feel, do not_—), but new stimulation never hurt. The bug’s eyes lit up with happiness.

“Oh, thank you, Captain! It’s just this way.” The mother set off briskly towards a small street jutting off from the main thoroughfare at a ninety-degree angle. Blue followed. True to the bug’s word, there was a smaller bug (a child, Blue had learned) standing at the base of one of the many lumafly lampposts that illuminated the city, staring up at a maskfly with a mottled coat. The child looked over to them as they noticed the two approaching.

“Oh, momma!” She cried. “She won’t come down!”

“That’s okay, dear, this nice Sentinel is going to help us!” Said the parent bug, scooping up her child in her arms. Both of them stared at Blue expectantly. The vessel sized up the situation. Well, why not start simple? Blue walked up to the base of the lamppost and jumped. They easily cleared most of the lamppost, but failed to leap all the way to the top. Their arms scrabbled uselessly at the slick metal as they slid back down, the maskfly looking down at them quizzically. The child gasped.

“They couldn’t reach her, momma,” she said, astonished. The mother bug hushed their child. Blue looked around, seeing if they could find another place to jump from. There were a few squat buildings around, though their slanted roofs (for all roofs were slanted in the City of Tears) would make it hard to keep their footing. Yet, there were no better options that Blue could think of, so they moved to ascend to the top of the building. Blue climbed on top of a nearby wagon laden with boxes to get on top of the building’s roof, and it shifted under their weight. Blue nearly lost their footing as the wagon tipped over, but they righted themselves and ascended the building. They had to move slowly and carefully to avoid slipping and falling back to square one, but they managed to do it.

“What are they doing, momma? What if they slip and hurt themselves?”

“They won’t, dear, but you have to be quiet so they don’t get distracted.” Really, Blue couldn’t care less about the child talking, but they didn’t exactly have a way to tell them that. The vessel crouched, building up power in their legs, and leaped once more towards the lamppost. Closer, closer—! The maskfly hopped onto one of the lamppost’s arms, out of Blue’s reach, and they hit the lamppost, rattling it. Their mask cracked painfully against the metal, and they slid back down, defeated for the second time.

“Are you okay?” Asked the mother bug, hurrying over to Blue.

“Don’t, momma! They need to concentrate!” Declared the child as if it was her own idea, and indeed, the truest idea which ever was. Blue sat up and gave the mother a thumbs up. She stepped away to let Blue stand. The vessel rolled their neck and rubbed their mask where it had impacted the metal. There wasn’t a crack, but it would be sore for a while.

“If you can’t do it, that’s all right, Captain,” said the mother. Blue shook their head. Thinking back to the wagon, Blue suddenly had an idea.

Having dragged the wagon to approximately the right position and produced a suitably heavy box, Blue stood on one end while they held up the massive crate. They strained under the weight, the Void within them shuddering with exertion. Their arms shook and their legs wobbled, but they held it. (“Wow, momma! They’re so strong!”) With a massive heave, Blue tossed the box onto the other side. The wagon quickly tilted the other way from the weight of the box, launching Blue towards the lamppost. The maskfly pecked at the metal, unaware of its impending capture. In a flash, Blue scooped up the maskfly and landed on the other side, tumbling to the ground in a heap—but protecting the maskfly. It chirruped, annoyed at the jostling it received, and pecked angrily at Blue for disturbing it.

“They got her!” Cried the child with glee, leaping out of her mother’s arms and bounding over to Blue. The vessel held out the maskfly to the child, who took it happily. The maskfly cooed contentedly, happy to be back in the arms of its caretaker. The mother bug walked over and shook Blue’s hand.

“Thank you so much, Captain.” Then, to her child, “Laia, what do we say?”

“Thank you!” Laia said happily, prancing around with her maskfly. The mother smiled.

“You’ve been such a help to us, Captain. How can I repay you?” She asked. Blue shook their head and waved their arms in front of them. No payment was necessary. They did it because it was what they were supposed to do. It was the duty of a vessel—a Sentinel—to assist the people of Hallownest.

“No, I insist!” Said the mother. Blue let their arms drop. Finally, the bug perked up. “I know! Why don’t you join us for dinner? Our house isn’t far.” Blue mulled it over. Their shift _was_ over by now, and they had nowhere else to be. Why not? It couldn’t hurt. Blue nodded. The mother bug tittered with happiness.

“Wonderful! Please, follow me. It’s just this way. Come along, dear—we’re going home!” The three started walking together, with Laia between Blue and her mother. Almost as an afterthought, the mother bug blurted out,

“Oh, and, my name is Yvera, by the way.” Blue nodded, and tapped their mask, then their cloak. Yvera tilted her head in confusion.

“I’m sorry, Captain, I don’t understand.” Blue pondered the conundrum for a second, then pointed to Yvera.

“Me?” Blue waved their hand and pointed again. “...Yvera?” Blue nodded quickly. “Yes, that’s my name, Captain.” The vessel pointed to their mask. Finally, it clicked. “...Oh! Your name! You’re trying to tell me your name!” Blue nodded again, then tapped their cloak. Yvera seemed lost again.

“Cloak? Is your name cloak?” Blue shook their head, then pointed to the cloak again. One could practically see the gears turning in Yvera’s head. “Weave? Wear? Cloth?” Shake, shake, shake. Yvera looked at Blue’s cloak with great intensity. Blue stopped and held up their cloak to the light, and pointed again to it.

“...Blue?” Yvera asked slowly, unsure of herself. Nod, nod. “Blue? Your name is Blue?” Nod, nod, nod! Yvera smiled widely. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Captain Blue of the Blue Sentinels!”

. . .

Ghost had refused all offers of an escort from their siblings, instead ordering them to double their vigilance while they were away. Between Hornet, themselves, and Hollow, Ghost was confident that there was nothing that could pose a threat to them in the entirety of Hallownest. The trio had decided to take the route through Fog Canyon and down through the Fungal Wastes to the Mantis Village. They were able to traverse their route mostly unharmed (thanks in large part to the lessons learned the _first _time Hollow and Ghost came to Fog Canyon). When they finally reached the gates to the Mantis Village, a pair of bowing mantises received them and conveyed the siblings to the Mantis Lords’ chamber. The village was much the same as Ghost remembered it. It seemed like the only part of Hallownest that had remained unchanged through the ages. Young mantises rested along the dark brick walls, and adult mantises bowed as they walked by, not moving along until they were well past them. The whole village was cast in a dim light; the only illumination was from the glowing spores which pervaded the entirety of the Fungal Wastes. Masks of all shapes and sizes adorned the walls, treasures from past kills. Seemingly out of courtesy for visitors, a set of wooden stairs now led down to the throne room of the village’s rulers. Hollow tested one of the steps, and it creaked underneath his weight. They and Ghost shared a glance.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Hornet said, “and I recommend you not make such an abrupt appearance in front of our hosts. Remember: we’re royalty now. We have to act the part.” The vessels considered that for a whole five seconds before the pair leaped off the wall together, falling with a crash at the base of the chamber. Hornet sighed to herself and hurried down the stairs after them.

A large table stood in the middle of the chamber, where the three Lords sat, along with several other creatures. One was clearly one of the larger bees, not unlike in size from the Hive Knight, dressed in garb quite unlike anything Ghost had ever seen before. It was a yellow silk dress, similar to Hornet’s cloak, but longer, and possessing holes from which the bee’s arms and wings could protrude. Also sitting at the table was a massive pile of green. Ghost recognized it to be the same sort of creature as the Moss Prophet they had encountered before, the one that… Ghost shook themselves. The third stranger was an old, wrinkled, massive mushroom, with a trunk thicker than a Shrumal Ogre, and eyes sunk deep into their face. Whatever conversation had been carrying on stopped as soon as Hollow and Ghost hit the ground.

“What is the meaning of this?” Asked the bee indignantly, standing up out of her seat.

“Hrrm? Are these the guests we’ve been waiting for?” Rumbled the mushroom, its voice like croaking bark.

“Yes,” responded the eldest Mantis Lord, in her chittering accent, “they are.” Ghost looked with confusion at the mushroom. They hadn’t left the Spore Shroom charm on, had they? The mushroom chuckled in its low voice.

“Surprised to hear a talking mushroom? It is true many of us care not to learn the common tongue, but why would we if we kept mostly to ourselves? Yet now, times are changing. That is why you hear me speak, little monarch.” The bee sputtered.

“I’m sorry, noble Lords, but—” She paused when Hornet stood next to Ghost and Hollow.

“Good day, Regent,” Hornet said. “I see you have found my gift acceptable?” Ghost looked up to Hornet.

“Oh, yes,” the bee said, suddenly cordial, “it is of excellent make! Did you weave it yourself?” Hornet stood up a little straighter with pride.

“Yes, in truth, I did. I am glad it was pleasing to you.” Ghost tugged at Hornet’s cloak. “Hmm?” She turned and looked down at them, rather than kneeling to their level as she was wont to do when they were alone.

“Surely, the King did not believe the Nest only traded with Hallownest? We have our own agreements.” Ghost felt like something twisted within them, their shade roiling with discomfort. Of course, Hornet was right—there were other kingdoms than Hallownest, but why did this feel like some sort of betrayal? Did Ghost really not ever consider the idea that Hornet had a life outside of acting as a guide, mentor, and occasionally opponent to them? No, no. That was preposterous. They needed to just forget it and move on. (_Do not__ feel, do not_—) It didn’t matter, anyway. What business did the King of Hallownest have taking an interest in the trade agreements of Deepnest?

“Would the good Queen and King care to take their seats?” Asked the Eldest Lord. Hornet nodded, and took her spot next to the bee. Ghost followed suit, sitting next to the massive mushroom. Hollow took up a protective position behind Ghost, their nail held pointing downwards in front of their chest.

“Why is it that the King of Hallownest should have the privilege of a knight standing behind them?” Asked the bee, looking not at Ghost but the Lords. “I have heard tell of their exploits. Can they not protect themselves?”

“So long as their knight does not disrupt the proceedings, we see no reason to dismiss them from this chamber,” said the Eldest. “Shall we continue?” Ghost looked awkwardly between the creatures they didn’t know, but neither the Lords nor any of the newcomers acknowledged it, or cared to respond. Hornet coughed politely.

“I do not believe the King has been acquainted with those who sit with us. Perhaps introductions are in order?” The Eldest tittered, nodding.

“Of course,” she said, “they have not. Shall we go around the table, then?” Those gathered made noises of agreement. The Lord seated on the left started,

“I am the Youngest of the Mantis Lords, and these are my sisters.”

“I am the Eldest of the Mantis Lords.”

“And I am the Strongest of the Mantis Lords.” Hornet, with her hands folded neatly in her lap, continued,

“I am Hornet, Queen of the Nest. I look forward to working with you all.” The bee was up next. She puffed herself up so that she seemed bigger, and smoothed out her dress, taking just enough time so that everyone looked to her, wondering when she would continue.

“I am Lord Regent Rose of the Hive, here representing Her Majesty Mel, who is yet too young to be burdened with Queenship.” The moss creature who hadn’t spoken since Ghost had arrived then poked its head out of its massive moss-like fur.

“I am High Prophet of the Mosskin!” It declared. “Hearer of the Great Dreamer and glorious leader of our tribe!” The word “dreamer” caused Ghost’s shade to churn inside. Their dream nail felt heavy. Finally, it was the mushroom’s turn to speak.

“I am the Great Mushroom, of the mushroom tribe. That is all.” At last, all eyes fell on Ghost. They did nothing but stare back. After a second, Hornet took a breath to explain, but Regent Rose beat her to the punch.

“Does the King of Hallownest think themselves above introductions?” She said, her antennae twitching in some emotion Ghost couldn’t read.

“Regent Rose,” Hornet said, “if I may—their Majesty has no voice. They could not respond even if they chose to do so.” Ghost nodded, even though Hornet’s words hurt. They wished they could speak—not for these creatures, but to tell her… The bee leaned back in her seat.

“Then how shall we conduct our proceedings?”

“The King and I are much acquainted, and I can understand them well enough. I can speak for them.” Ghost’s shade bubbled with something approaching the feeling of being patronized. They didn’t _need_ Hornet to speak for them. They could communicate on their own—how else could their sister understand them in the first place? If only the others gathered at the table would listen and make the effort, Ghost could get their thoughts across just fine.

_**Sibling?**_ Ghost felt Hollow’s presence gently caress their mind, probing them. They knew Ghost was getting agitated—or however agitated a vessel could be. Ghost willed themselves to be calmer (_do not feel do not feel do not_—).

_Fine,_ Ghost responded, meeting warmth with feigned warmth. Hollow pulled back from their mind, but not without leaving a peaceful feeling behind. Ghost took a deep breath to calm themselves, imperceptible to everyone but Hollow. They could do this. They could do this. Meanwhile, Hornet had switched seats with the Youngest (all the Lords scooted down a seat) so that she could sit next to Ghost.

“So,” asked the Eldest, “with that out of the way, shall we resume our business?”

. . .

Blue sat patiently at the table, listening intently to Laia’s questioning. They were thankful most of them were yes-no questions, since a simple nod or shake of the head would suffice for an answer. Yvera’s house was small, but not cramped, with only a few rooms. It was sparsely decorated, and the furniture was simple. Yvera was at the stove, frying some tiktik meat that was left over from when she had made the stew that Laia and Blue were enjoying. In-between mouthfuls of food, Laia would look back up to see that Blue’s bowl had emptied a little more, though she never caught them actually eating.

“Hey, how come you only eat your stew when I’m not looking?” Blue stared back at her. Laia huffed. “What?” Blue shrugged. Laia rolled her eyes and took another mouthful of stew, being careful to watch Blue out of the corner of her eye. They didn’t move. Laia crossed her arms and pouted.

“Laia dear, please don’t pester Captain Blue so much. They’re our guest,” called Yvera from the stove.

“But _mom__ma_—”

“No buts!” Laia groaned in annoyance and leaned back in her chair. Blue, who had been watching Yvera, turned back to face Laia. The Sentinel glanced around, then gestured to Laia to get her attention.

“Hm?” The young bug sat up. Blue put a finger on their mask where their mouth would be. Laia got the hint and nodded. Blue carefully glanced around again, then grasped the spoon. Laia watched with bated breath as Blue slowly raised the spoon to the bottom of their mask and—

“The tiktiks are ready!” Yvera announced, turning around with a plate piled up with thin steaks of tiktik meat. Blue lowered the spoon. Laia could’ve screamed from the disappointment.

After the meal was over, there was only one steak left.

“Captain Blue, do you want the last steak?” Blue shook their head and patted their stomach. They were absolutely stuffed. (Laia was still none the wiser about vessels’ eating habits.) Yvera looked to Laia. She shook her head.

“We need to leave it for papa, when he comes back. He loves steak,” Laia said. “Put it in the ice box, momma.” Yvera stiffened for a moment.

“...Yes, of course, dear. When your father comes back.” Blue glanced between Yvera and Laia, a question on their metaphorical lips. They didn’t know much about bug social interactions, but they knew enough to feel the tension in the room. There was something amiss—normally, a father being gone shouldn’t cause such a sudden shift in mood. Yvera glanced to Blue.

“It’s…” Blue held her gaze until she dropped it. “My mate,” she spoke to the table, “is gone missing. His name is Gariel—he is a fisherman. He…” Blue perked up at the mention of her mate’s name. Weren’t they…?

“Do you know them?” Yvera asked, suddenly leaning on the table, her eyes fixed on the holes in Blue’s mask. Blue nodded.

“Then you know how devoted he is. Captain, my mate wouldn’t leave so abruptly, without a word. We don’t know where he is, only that he disappeared several days ago. This isn’t like Gariel, Captain. I fear...” Yvera glanced back towards Laia, who was sitting in her chair rigidly and without speaking, for once. The mother bug leaned in closer to Blue and took their hands in hers.

“Noble Sentinel, please, I beseech you, _find my mate_,” Yvera begged. Blue looked back at her, their mask unreadable, until she felt Blue’s hands squeeze hers. They nodded.

“Oh, thank you!” Yvera exclaimed, all but leaping out of her chair as she lunged forward to throw her arms around Blue’s neck.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you...”

“You’re going to find papa?” Blue nodded. “You are? You really are?!” Again, they nodded. They felt dampness on their cloak. Laia hopped out of her chair to hug Blue from the other side.

“Thank you, mister Sentinel…” Blue awkwardly patted the top of Laia’s head, like how they had seen people pet children before. This was an entirely new experience for them. Usually they weren’t the one getting cried on or pleaded at or anything. They were just a knight—a vessel created to be empty. What were they even supposed to do in this situation? Blue couldn’t think of anything, so they didn’t do anything. They sat there with one hand on Laia’s head, until at last the pair pulled away.

“I’m sorry, Captain, I don’t know what came over me...” Blue waved their hands in front of them. _Stop apologizing_, they were trying to say. Yvera sniffed.

“Well… I hope you enjoyed the food,” she said. Blue nodded, and gave her two thumbs up. Yvera smiled weakly.

“I’m glad,” she said. Blue nodded, then turned to Laia and extended their hand. Laia looked at it curiously before realizing she was supposed to shake. She did so, and Blue turned back to Yvera.

“Are you heading off?” Blue nodded. “Well, at least let me see you out.” Blue let Yvera pass and get the door for them. As Blue walked by, they bowed to Yvera—it was the best way they could think of to express their gratitude. Yvera wasn’t sure how to respond, so she just said,

“Please come back soon—hopefully with news about my mate!” Blue stood up straight and nodded. Then, with their cloak fluttering from the quick motion, Blue was off. The door shut behind them. Without a glance back, Blue walked on, wondering what they had gotten themselves into. The idea of a missing bug case had died along with the majority of Hallownest. They would have to organize everything from the ground up. Perhaps their Lord could help? Yes, they would ask their King as soon as they got back.

. . .

Drudging through the minutiae of inter-kingdom policy was mind-numbingly boring. Ghost wondered how everyone else was able to stomach it so easily. The others seemed unperturbed by the dull and tedious work. (Nevermind that Ghost themselves showed no signs of fatigue either—they were good at remaining stoic.) Even Hornet, who Ghost expected to get fidgety from sitting in one place too long, persevered. It was strange—she was so near to him, yet so distant. It was different than when she was far away, off in Deepnest or even when Ghost was only just getting to know her, when she tried to kill him those couple of times. At least then there was a sense of familiarity and rapport. Now? It was like she was a different person—one Ghost hardly knew. Or perhaps this was who Hornet always was, and they had just not seen it? They didn’t know. They preferred Hornet, Princess-Defender of Hallownest, not Queen Hornet.

“...nest? King of Hallownest?” Ghost looked up. Had they dozed off? The table was looking at them. Ghost became acutely aware of how little they had been paying attention. What were they talking about, again? Something about stagways and urban development, whatever that was? Ghost sat still, not moving an inch. The High Prophet shifted in their seat, making a sound not unlike shifting leaves. Hornet inclined her head, looking at Ghost with confusion. Regent Rose crossed her arms.

“We cannot continue without your input, King of Hallownest, unless you would prefer we decide for you?” Asked the Regent. Ghost looked to her with all the contempt they could muster. They were getting tired of her constant jabs. Surprisingly, Rose met their gaze. Her antennae twitched, and her wings fluttered, giving off a soft buzzing sound. The Eldest Lord placed their arms down on the table and pushed their chair away with a sharp scraping sound.

“Perhaps a recess is in order?” She suggested, already acting as if it were decided. The two other Lords followed suit, as did Hornet. Rose’s eyes stayed locked with Ghost’s for several more seconds, before she too got out of her chair. The Great Mushroom stayed where they were. Once Rose left, Ghost hopped out of their chair and walked over to Hornet. Hollow stayed in step behind them, as rigid as ever. Hornet looked down at them when they approached.

“Yes, King?” Ghost tried to indicate that they were tired of this. Hornet sighed. “This is what monarchy entails, King of Hallownest. I cannot offer any other counsel.” Of course she couldn’t. _This_ Hornet wouldn’t. Ghost turned and walked away, not trying to get anywhere in particular, but to get away from Hornet, even though something within them bade them stay.

_**Sibling?**_ Hollow didn’t move, but their thoughts once again pressed up against Ghost. Ghost kept walking aimlessly, pacing around.

_Don’t want to be here,_ Ghost grumbled, _want to go home. _Hollow sheathed their nail and placed their hand on Ghost’s head.

_**Sibling must endure. For the good of **__**the **__**Kingdom.**_ Ghost knew they were right, but they were going to go nuts if they had to sit there for another age listening to the most torturously boring prattle they had ever heard.

“Good King of Hallownest?” It was one of the Mantis Lords. Ghost turned. The three sisters had produced three long wooden training nails, of the same make as the ones they wielded in battle. The Youngest held up another training nail, which seemed to be sized for Ghost.

“Would you care for some… recreation?” The agitation melted away as Ghost caught sight of the nail. Finally—something Ghost was good at! The vessel handed their pure nail to Hollow and bounded up to take the training nail from the Youngest with unrestrained excitement. The sisters shared a chuckle.

“My, it is so eager, perhaps it was itching for a fight?” Said the Strongest.

“Sister, _ please_,” said the Eldest in that sarcastic tone older siblings are wont to take when tormenting their inferiors in age. “I saw how you were looking at them as soon as they walked in. You’ve been fantasizing about a rematch ever since the good King graced us with their presence.” A green blush dusted the Strongest’s cheeks.

“I—sister!” The Youngest and Eldest shared a laugh at their sibling’s expense.

“Oh, calm yourself,” said the Eldest. “I would be lying if I said that I, too, did not look forward to another match between ourselves and this little King.” Ghost waited as their banter faded. At last the three sisters faced Ghost.

“Are you ready?” Asked the Youngest.

“We won’t be holding back,” said the Eldest.

“So don’t think you have to hold back against us!” Declared the Strongest. Ghost nodded, and drew their nail. The Sisters of Battle bowed, and in a blur, all three lunged at Ghost.

_ Fwoosh. _ Ghost dashed through their attack; Void particles sloughed off their body as they spun around, weapon in hand. The Strongest leaped, meaning to skewer them coming down. Ghost sidestepped her pounce, and jumped over her wild followup swing intended to catch them. Now eye to eye with her, Ghost struck hard with Sheo’s Great Slash. The Strongest staggered back. Ghost nearly pressed their attack, but caught the movement of the disks of razor-sharp wind the sisters could produce. Cloaking their body in Void, Ghost dashed downwards. Soul and Void erupted around them; pitch-black tendrils lashed out and a shockwave of energy reverberated throughout the arena. As they recovered themselves, Ghost saw that they had avoided the Youngest and Eldest’s attempts to skewer them, and dealt back damage to them in turn. A shadow fell over Ghost. They narrowly dashed away from the Strongest’s stab, but failed to notice the Eldest pouncing on them. Her strike smacked Ghost to the ground.

“Now, sisters!” The Eldest held them down, but Ghost slipped away, their body momentarily transforming into pure Void. The Strongest smashed her weapon down where Ghost was not a moment after they had escaped. As they reformed themselves, the Youngest appeared in front of them with her nail and thrust. Ghost went flying. They crashed into the wall of the chamber. The Mantis Lords held their nails at the ready, waiting for Ghost to drop down—but they didn’t. A faint pink glow surrounded them as crystals sprung up at their feet. Suddenly, Ghost pushed off of the wall; in a flash, they were there in front of the Sisters. Ghost unleashed Oro’s Dash Slash, knocking the three of them back. The glow faded, and Ghost skidded to the stop on the ground, their nail at the ready. The Sisters recovered themselves, and the battle continued.

Hornet watched them fight with muted interest. Aside from that strange crystal move and their, she had seen it all before from Ghost. They had used all of the tools at their disposal to vanquish her the last time they fought, at the Cast-off Shell, and she had stalked them for most of their journey. While they had fought, Hollow had gravitated towards her. Although their posture hadn’t changed, their proximity to her was enough to infer that they were comfortable most around Hornet than anyone else. Hollow too watched Ghost fight—she could tell from the way their eye sockets were always fixed on their sibling. The High Prophet was at her side, though the two had not conversed.

“I find it telling that those four’s idea of recreation is sparring,” said Rose, who had just returned from a brief walk.

“The mantises value strength, and the King of Hallownest has bested them before. It is only natural they’d want a rematch,” said Hornet, scooting closer to Hollow so that the Regent could fit between her and the High Prophet.

“Such is the power of gods,” whispered the mosskin leader reverently. Rose ignored them and continued,

“Still. Aren’t there more tasteful ways to pass the time?” The bee fiddled with part of her dress. “Perhaps art?”

“Not all of us can be so gifted as you, Regent,” Hornet said. She meant it—during one of her visits to the Hive, she had caught sight of some of the Regent’s paintings. Hornet had liked the way they looked, even if they were rather elementary in composition. Rose chuckled.

“No, perhaps not. Nevertheless…” The Regent trailed off as Ghost slid between the Eldest’s legs and unleashed a devastating blow to her back, sending her flying. The mantis hit the ground and rolled, her nail clattering to the ground by her side. She groaned and propped herself up to a kneeling position with her nail.

“Enough! Enough—I yield. Avenge me, sisters!” In a single blurry bound, the Eldest leaped from her position in the battlefield to behind Hornet and Rose.

“Are you enjoying the show?” Asked the Eldest. Hornet and Rose turned.

“It is certainly exciting,” said the Regent. “I’ve never been privileged to see the King of Hallownest fight, nor you and your sisters. After this, I hope I have not cause to see it again!” The three shared a laugh over that.

“Well, good Regent, it is our intention that this meeting should prevent just that,” said the Eldest. “Though you’ve already done a good job of endearing yourself to the King, no?” The Eldest’s mandibles tittered in something approaching a sly grin.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Asked Rose, shifting her posture to a more reserved position. It was a defensive gesture—one that both Hornet and the Eldest, as predators, easily picked up on.

“Well Regent, your subtle jabs at the King have been anything but. True, they do not possess the gift of speech, but that is no indication they have not wisdom and intelligence. Do not mistake their stoicism for indifference,” warned Hornet. The two could almost smell the bee’s discomfort. If they could detect the pheromones she gave off, they probably would, considered Hornet.

“I agree,” said the Eldest. “I advise you to consider your words to the King carefully from now on, Regent. It would not be well if diplomatic relations were to sour this early on in our governances’ new eras, would it?”

“It would not,” concurred Hornet. Rose glanced back at Ghost, still locked in combat with the two remaining Mantis Lords. She shook her head.

“Sisters, do you not remember the domination of Hallownest before all fell to ruin? How that wretched King did oppress us all?” Hornet’s fist clenched at Rose’s mention of the Wyrm, and she swore she saw Hollow twitch out of the corner of her eye.

“We must band together if we are to avert a similar situation this time around!” Urged the Regent. “Together, we can turn the tables—bend Hallownest to our will, not the other way around!” The Eldest shook her head.

“We mantises know a thing or two about cyclical violence: it rarely ends well. When these kingdoms fall—and they will fall—what shall the survivors think of those who came before? Of us? If we were to deal back blow for blow the injustices the Wyrm perpetrated on us, how would the denizens of Hallownest in ages not yet arrived think of us then? I imagine much the same we feel towards the Wyrm. Yet, the Wyrm is gone, and his sins he has taken with him. Mark me well, Regent of the Hive: inflicting vengeance upon the descendants of sinners does naught but perpetuate a destructive system of eternal punishment.” The Mantis Lord looked to her sisters fighting with Ghost, laughing in their play. For a moment, Hornet and Rose both thought she looked incredibly tired. Age seemed to catch up with her in a single, fleeting second.

“Our brother… Our clans did wage war for what felt like ages, one side never truly defeating the other. When we cast him out, he swore that we owed him a debt of blood, and he would not rest until he saw it payed. Because of his arrogance, so many of our kin which might otherwise been friends perished. Each death, each tragedy, was a debt to be repayed. And so it continued for years and years. Tell me, Regent…” The Eldest looked Rose in the eye, dead serious. “Is that a fate you would wish on your posterity?” To her credit, Rose didn’t flinch. The bee made to respond, but—

“Look out below!” The three stepped away from the falling Youngest Lord. Yet, instead of hitting the ground, the Youngest found herself cushioned by a bed of warm, green, fluffy fur.

“Oh!” She yelped, finding herself looking into the eyes of the High Prophet. “Thank you, High Prophet.” She stepped down from the giant mass of fluff and retrieved her nail.

“It was the Dreamer’s will that I be soft and fluffy, and good at breaking falls,” said the giant mosskin. “Thank not me, but Unn.”

“Er, noted,” said the Youngest, taking up her position to the left of the Eldest.

Meanwhile, Ghost and the Strongest were locked in strife. For every solid hit the Strongest landed, Ghost returned ten. Both were panting heavily, and the Strongest looked unsteady on her feet. Yet, once again, she charged. Ghost stood there, unmoving, until the very last second, when they parried aside the Strongest’s blow, sending her nail flying off to the corner of the arena. Ghost pointed their nail up at their opponent’s throat. The Strongest paused, and almost seemed to consider admitting defeat. But the thought passed, and she lunged at Ghost. In a single leap, the vessel cleared the Strongest’s head. Ghost swung down with their nail, striking true, and landed on the other side. The final Mantis Lord fell to the ground and laid there, groaning softly. Ghost approached with their nail at their side, and lightly poked the Strongest’s forehead with the tip of their weapon.

“Oh, _ fine,_” she grumbled, pushing herself up to a sitting position. “You win again, little King.” She wiped some dirt off her face and stood up. Ghost inclined their head to the ground, and the Strongest returned the bow.

“But mark my words, I _ will _ defeat you soon enough!” Ghost crossed their arms and tilted their head, goading her silently. Surprisingly, the tall mantis laughed.

“We’ll see how smug you are when _ I’m _ the one left standing!” The Youngest gently squeezed past Rose and Hornet to get to her sister. Ghost didn’t quite hear what she whispered to the Strongest, but it sounded like…

“_You want to devour them so bad, don’t you?_”

Whatever it was the Youngest said, the Strongest’s cheeks flushed a bright green, and her mandibles chittered with embarrassment. She shoved her laughing sister away, covering her face with her claws.

“You are the _ worst_, sister!” The Youngest only laughed.

“All right, then! You’ve had your fun. Let’s get back to business, shall we?” Everyone began shuffling off to their seats at the table, which had remarkably remained undamaged throughout the fighting. The Great Mushroom was still there, lightly snoring. Once everyone sat down, Rose nudged them.

“Great Mushroom? We’re starting again.”

“Hrrm?” Asked the mushroom. “So soon? Well, all’s the same. I was having a delightful dream about tending to a mycelium farm...” The Eldest smiled.

“I’m sure it was wonderful, Great Mushroom. Shall we get back to it?” Ghost felt a mental nudge from Hollow.

_ **Better?** _

_ Better. _ Waves of happiness and relief emanated from Hollow. Ghost felt energized from their sparring session with the sisters. Right—they could get through this. They could do it. They just needed to hang in there, like they hung on during the fight with the Strongest. While the Eldest droned on about another boring facet of policy, Ghost made sure to listen. That’s what a King did, right? They listened.

Which was why they were going to have a chat with Blue as soon as they got back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, uh, may or may not have accidentally caused myself to start shipping Ghost with the Mantis Lords during the process of writing this. Oops.
> 
> I've been totally blown away at all the attention this little fic has received. It's really encouraging. I know that sounds deadpan over text, but I can assure you that I'm smiling while I write this note. 
> 
> More to come, so stay tuned.


	3. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ghost drags along some other vessels for a family outing. Shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 6/24/2020: Fixed typos and formatting issues and did minor edits to improve the quality of the writing. (This is still probably one of if not the best chapters ngl...)

The trip back to the City of Tears was quiet. Ghost, Hollow, and Hornet had little to speak about. Ghost couldn’t even find anything to swing their nail at to break the monotony. They _could_ speak to Hornet, but they were still sullen over earlier. No, they would keep to themselves—give _her_ the cold shoulder for once. That would show her!

_**Sibling.**_ Hollow’s query prodded at Ghost’s mind. Looking to their left, Ghost saw that Hollow was still walking as rigidly as ever, their nail held squarely in front of their chest, as always. The only time Hollow would break their posture would be to bend down or squeeze through a narrow passage. Watching them like this, Ghost could almost imagine them back in their pristine white armor, wielding a perfectly sharpened pure nail with both arms intact, like in Godhome…

_**Sibling?**_ Ghost shook themselves.

_Question?_

_**Is sibling well?**_ Could Hollow tell how Ghost was feeling, even now? Was it that obvious?

_Yes._

_**Is sibling lying?**_ Ghost felt their shade recoil instinctively from the indirect accusation. A bout of nausea swept through their innards like a punch to the thorax. Hollow had never been so abrupt and blunt before.

_Not lying._ The answer came easily. It came so easily Ghost almost believed it themselves.

. . .

Blue ascended the spire to the common room where the other vessels were wont to gather. It was a large open space, probably a meeting room in a past life, converted to the closest thing resembling a break room the vessels could imagine. Seats and sofas in various states of disrepair were strewn about the area like bread scattered to feed maskflies. Tables were sparse. The whole room was dimly lit by too-small lumafly lanterns. The scent of decay wafted through the area, though the vessels didn’t mind, on account of their lacking the sense of smell. Sentinels of all shapes and sizes thronged the room, performing maintenance on their various arms, conversing, or just resting on the furniture before they went out on patrol once more. The pair of Sentinels guarding the door snapped crisp salutes when Blue entered. The Captain gestured for them to be at ease and continued into the room. They needed to ask around.

Methodically, Blue swept through the entire room, questioning their siblings about the missing fisherman. They gained a few leads: Sharp (so named for their quick wits and well-kept nail) had seen the fisherman most recently; he was wandering around on one of the upper levels of the city, almost as if in a trance. Sharp had immediately thought that Gariel had fallen victim to some lingering form of the Infection, but a closer inspection revealed that his eyes were free from the tell-tale radiant globs of pus. Sharp thought no further of it and let the bug be on his way. Other vessels had reported that they too had heard of disappearances. It seemed that Gariel was not the only bug that was missing. However, there did not appear to be any rhyme nor reason to the bugs who disappeared. After plotting the disappearances on a map, Blue and the Sentinels were none the wiser. The disappearances did not appear to affect bugs with respect to class, nor place of residence, nor any other thing. Fishermen, hunters, miners—all had gone missing. No less than ten bugs had disappeared within the past few days. Sharp said that more would follow, and Blue was inclined to agree.

The next logical step would be to interview the families and friends of those who had disappeared, but there was a single, glaringly obvious flaw with that plan: none of the Sentinels could speak. This simple deficiency made what would otherwise have been a simple procedure incredibly difficult. It was easy to sign or gesture for simple things, like_ “I would like to purchase that item,”_, or “_you can’t do that; it’s not safe,”_, but how could they ask, “_excuse us, we’ve come here to ask some questions about your missing family member?_” The vessels Blue had gathered to work on the case all put their masks together, but couldn’t think of anything beyond drawing crude pictures and pointing to them… which was problematic, considering they didn’t know much of anything about what the majority of the missing individuals looked like, and none of them could draw very well. It was a pickle indeed—a riddle wrapped in a mystery and cloaked in uncertainty.

Blue shook their head and began to pace around the table. Sharp was there, their ironically short and nubby horns bobbing as they considered the problem. Also present was Vago, who had long legs and horns that curved in on themselves, often assigned to cover long distance patrols on account of their superior memory and speed. Bugs called them Vago because they were always wandering around, from the citizens’ perspective. Blue enlisted their help because they knew the city better than any other Sentinel. The fourth member of their quartet was Gem, a juvenile vessel like their King, named for their peculiar fondness for shiny things. They were the most personable of the vessels, and bugs passing by frequently complemented them on the pretty stones they chose to adorn themselves with. They were the quartet’s social mind, and unspoken liaison with the citizen bugs. Although they would never admit it, Gem’s openly un-hollow behavior made the other vessels uncomfortable. It reminded them too well of their own impurities—impurities for which their father cast them into the Abyss in his mad quest to find a pure vessel to seal away the Radiance. Many Sentinels’ masks still bore the cracks and scars of their falls, when their father judged them to be impure and tossed them over the side of the great platform to what he assumed would be their death. (_Do not feel, do not feel, no cost too great_—)

_Maybe sweep upper levels? _Suggested Sharp. They, like the rest of the vessels at the table, were projecting quickly, defaulting to the more clipped sentences that came naturally to vessels. Blue shook their head.

_Area too big; Sentinels too few,_ the Captain responded.

_Much of area unsuitable for holding prisoners,_ Vago said. _Could narrow down __search area with that criterium__._

_Perhaps,_ Blue conceded. _But Sentinels stretched thin as is. Still need more._

_More what? _Blue threw up their hands in exasperation.

_More _everything!

_Maybe volunteers? __Like the weaver students? Or the judges?_ Gem spoke, after remaining silent for much of the conversation. That gave the vessels pause. Volunteers… that could work. But how could they gather them? How would they organize them? How would they tell them what to look for? What _were_ they looking for in the first place? Bodies? Evidence? There were a million variables, and the list kept growing longer by the hour.

Suddenly, the vessels felt a chill. Their shades shuddered in unison. They all knew what it meant—their Lord had returned.

…

“This is where I leave you, King,” Hornet said, turning to Ghost. They had reached the gates to the City of Tears. “We shall meet again in due time, so long as our duties permit.” Ghost nodded. They wanted to reach out to her, but at the same time turn and walk away. Either way, she would not permit any affection between them, not while there were citizens watching (and bowing down). But the choice was moot. Hornet was already zipping off with her needle back towards Deepnest. When did “a courtly life is no life for me” turn to this? Ghost walked through the gates, their subjects rising as they passed by. They forced themselves to keep their mask up, staring straight ahead, like a proper monarch. They would not allow themselves to be downcast. It wasn’t proper.

_Do not feel, do not feel, do not feel—_

. . .

Ghost stepped into the vessels’ gathering room, Hollow shadowing them as always. The Sentinels collectively snapped to attention and bowed deeply, regardless of what they were doing beforehand. With a mental command, Ghost bade them be at ease and made a beeline for Blue. The Captain and the other three Sentinels with them saluted as Ghost approached. Their Lord glanced at each of them in turn, until their mask settled on Blue.

_Come,_ Ghost ordered, turning on their heel and beginning to stride out. Blue followed without complaint. Hollow fell into step behind Ghost, and the trio exited the room without further talk. Ghost led Blue down the spire’s staircases and elevators, making their way to the ground floor. Finally, Blue decided to inquire about their Lord’s intentions.

_Destination?_ Blue asked.

_Abyss. Birthplace, _Ghost answered. _No voice to cry suffering… Except one._ Blue tilted their head inquisitively. Even Hollow seemed confused, if their glance downwards towards Ghost was any indication. The Abyss was a long way away. Blue hadn’t thought about it in a very long time—indeed, they tried their best to forget about it. They had tried to drive away the memories begotten in that wretched pit the best they could. Wandering in the wasteland was good for that. Although they were not supposed to feel pain, nor emotion, the sting of rejection still lingered, even after ages had passed. _Do not_—

_Long way away,_ Blue said. _Patrol routes_—

_Will be maintained,_ Ghost interrupted. _Brief trip anyway. _Blue had no further objections. It wasn’t necessarily fear that they felt, but something else. Respect, perhaps? Deference? Whatever it was, they felt an aversion to questioning the methods of their Lord any further. So they continued on, down through the waterways and the ancient basin. Stone brick turned to dark rock. Although Blue held their nail at the ready, there was no need for them to swing it. Their King was quite capable by themselves, and any threatening creatures which crossed the trio’s path met their ends swiftly on account of Grubberfly’s Elegy. Finally, they came to the entrance to the Abyss. Wispy particles of Void, black tendrils of smoky fog rolled and curled up out of the massive archway leading into the deep vertical chamber that dropped down to the graves of their siblings. As Ghost approached, the Void seemed to welcome them, the fog wrapping around them in a kind of ephemeral embrace. The Lord payed their subjects no heed, marching unflinchingly into the massive chamber.

As Hollow passed under the archway, they stiffened, if such a thing was possible. They knew what had transpired here. They knew that Ghost knew, too. They knew how Hollow abandoned them to die. If it affected Ghost, they didn’t show it. Although Hollow was able to detect what Ghost was thinking when their emotions were particularly aroused, most of the time their Lord’s mind was an impregnable fortress. Hollow tried to look on the brighter side of things—Ghost didn’t seem particularly upset at returning here, not towards Hollow nor anything else. That was good. Hollow didn’t want their sibling to be upset with them.

Ghost was staring down off the edge of the metal platform. Could their eyes penetrate the Void and see the bottom? Hollow imitated their Lord, and so did Blue. The two of them couldn’t see anything. This wasn’t any normal form of darkness—darkness merely implies the absence of light, a privation of it. Here, the air was thick with Void, preventing their eyes from penetrating into the darkness, even with the assistance from Ghost’s lumafly lantern. Then, without warning, Ghost leaped from the platform and disappeared into the murky depths of the Abyss.

Although they had not visited the Abyss since they had acquired the Voidheart, Ghost knew the way down by heart—or whatever passed for the same in a vessel. Using their Monarch Wings, Ghost glided down, avoiding all of the obstacles along the way. They glided past sharp rocks and nearly invisible protrusions, a whisper of air as Ghost passed by the only indication that there were things in their way to begin with. If it were not for the pull of gravity as they descended, it would have felt the same to Ghost as before. Those protrusions of rocks might have been falling siblings, their necks snapped and tossed over the edge by an impassive father. How many shattered and cracked masks filled the bottom of the chamber? Thousands? Tens of thousands? Ghost couldn’t tell, and they didn’t dare measure. The ground of packed in masks and shattered shells suddenly burst into view as Ghost finally reached the bottom of the Abyss. Flaring out the Monarch Wings just as they hit the ground, Ghost lightly alighted on the masks of their siblings. They would not do their family such disrespect as to land roughly. With a flash of darkness and a whisper of shade, Hollow was there beside them, holding Blue in their arm.

Blue stepped out of Hollow’s hold and mutely surveyed the landscape. They had tried hard to suppress any memories of the Abyss. The shade within them roiled and sputtered, curling in on itself in revulsion. There were so many masks—masks unending, the world a grave. With every step Blue felt the shifting of their siblings’ bodies underneath their feet, heard the sound of mask shards crunching together. It was nauseating. They were adrift in a sea of death. Their only lifelines were Ghost, who had already set out in a direction and were beginning to fade from view, and Hollow, who was carefully following Ghost. Blue bounded up to Hollow and stuck to them like glue.

It was quiet in the Abyss, but not quiet like the Queen’s Gardens or Greenpath was quiet. It wasn’t that the sounds they heard were soft, for there was no sound to begin with, which made the clinking of mask shards beneath them deafening in contrast. It wasn’t empty like Dirtmouth, because Dirtmouth even in its decayed form still bore the echoes of past habitation. It wasn’t dark like Deepnest, because in Deepnest, the darkness had something to hide. There was nothing here but absence; the Abyss was a place of nothingness, of annihilation, like the Void which called it home. There was no life to call it home, nor had there ever been, or ever will have been, even if all the world fell into the sea and was utterly consumed. When the gods had carved out the world, it was as if they left the Abyss blank. There was no time, nor space, other than the darkness, the Void, and the endless infinity of bodies. Crunch, crunch, crack, went the bodies beneath them. Click-clack, went the empty shells.

As Ghost pressed forwards towards that boundless deep of Void, they reached out with their mind. It was like being in a boat in the middle of a still ocean and peering out over the edge, seeing the vast expanse of nothing but water in every direction but up. A tremendous deep extended beneath, and attempting to navigate was useless, for there were no landmarks by which to gain one’s bearings. That was what Ghost felt. There was them, there was Hollow and Blue, and then there was Void—endless, suffocating. They could imagine standing on the dark sea, looking down and seeing utter blackness. Where were their siblings? Were they at peace? Only one way to find out…

Ghost rocked the boat.

In their mind’s eye, the pristine, mirror-like surface of the black sea shattered like a pane of glass. They prodded the Void with their mind, disturbing it. White eyes, like saucers, opened up in the deep. Thousands upon thousands, certainly, all staring up at Ghost on the surface. They grew closer and closer as the Siblings recognized their Lord, coming out of their deep slumber to greet them. The eyes grew closer and the figures attached to them grew more distinct. Ghost now looked down at a sea of Siblings, pressed together like sardines, squeezing together so as to get a glimpse of their Lord, to be close to them, to reach them, to _reach them. _

Hollow and Blue watched as the Void seemed to curl around Ghost, cloaking them in near darkness. Hollow quickened their pace to catch up. Their hand was nearly upon their sibling’s shoulder when Ghost threw out their arm. It was a clear sign to stop. Hollow froze, and slowly retracted their hand. Ghost continued walking forwards, Void seething off their form.

_What is happening?_ Blue asked, keeping close by Hollow’s side.

_**Don’t know,**_ Hollow answered, watching Ghost intently for any signs of change. But it was not Ghost that changed, but their surroundings. Hollow caught movement out of the corner of their eye, and their hand snapped to their nail. A glob of Void was rising up out of the sea of masks. Another rose, and then another—and another. Ghost stopped walking. Hollow and Blue inched closer to Ghost as ten small blobs of Void became twenty, then fifty, then a hundred, and so on until the trio was pressed together back to back, the Void surrounding them completely. Hollow and Blue only stayed their nails under a mental command from Ghost. The balls of Void began to shift, changing forms. The Void creatures’ forms sharpened and came fully into focus. It was their Siblings—so many that their numbers were incalculable. From every angle white eyes stared down at Hollow, Blue, and Ghost. Everywhere they looked, Hollow saw their dead Siblings squeezing in, pressing close to one another to get a glimpse at the Lord of Shades and their retinue.

Ghost scrutinized each Void being pouring out of the Abyss to greet them. So far, it was nothing but Siblings—not that Ghost had a problem with family, but they were searching for one Void creature in particular. So after greeting each Sibling in turn as they approached (so many that Ghost felt their mask begin to ache), Ghost continued to walk. It looked like they would need to visit the lake of Void after all. As they went, the Siblings followed, and so did Hollow and Blue. The Siblings fell in behind the still living trio, their numbers fading away into the darkness, but nevertheless still present. If any of the living vessels’ eyes had been able to pierce the darkness, they might have seen the massive following of Siblings they had attracted, enough surely to fill the White Palace with their volume—at least by Hollow’s reckoning.

Ghost walked solemnly through the corridors of the Abyss, Hollow, Blue, and the Siblings in tow. The sea of masks finally ended, giving way to corridors of black stone, and dark pools of Void. These smaller pools of Void were not what Ghost was looking for. They hopped and dashed through the corridor, Hollow stooping low and even crawling at some points to keep up. Eventually the corridor opened up into another, even larger chamber, where the Void fog wasn’t as thick. A giant lighthouse occupied the chamber, shining down on a pristine sea of pure Void.

Hollow and Blue paused to stare up at the massive lighthouse. Although it was merely a fraction of the size of the great buildings in the City of Tears, its magnificence was amplified by its luminosity and strangeness. It was the ultimate lumafly lamp. But why was it here? Perhaps the Pale King, grasping for straws, had attempted to create a lamp so bright it would have caught the attention of even the Radiance, so that she would appear in the midst of the Void and be consumed? For it was common knowledge that the moths had a peculiar fixation on lights, or specifically lamps, probably owing to the brightness of their progenitor. Hollow imagined the Radiance smashing her face against the lighthouse’s tip in a vain attempt to get at the light within. The mental image of their tormentor engaging in such undignified actions brought a modicum of amusement to Hollow—a small mental revenge.

Meanwhile, Ghost had reached the tip of the small metal dock that jetted out over the Void lake. The lighthouse was shining down on the lake, yet it did not appear glossy or reflective. Nevertheless, it was still, so much so that it seemed solid. Blue inched towards the lake, almost stepping into it. They were drawn to it in a way they couldn’t describe. They wanted to dive in, to immerse themselves in it. To become one… Blue almost walked right off the edge, but Ghost’s arm shot out and checked them. Hollow appeared behind Blue and protectively curled their arm around the smaller vessel.

_If anything happens… _Ghost looked down into the lake. Did they see something Blue and Hollow couldn’t? Images flashed through the two vessels’ minds as Ghost projected them. Nails flashing, Void sent flying. A mask cracked and broken—Ghost’s shade bleeding away. Slash, stab, slash, stab, _shlick, shlick, shlick_; a blade stabbing its owner, again and again. A shudder passed through Hollow’s body. The images reminded them too closely of their own fantasies, when they were still chained and bound. Blue looked with uncertainty between Hollow and Ghost. What was Ghost planning to do? Blue took a step towards Ghost.

_Lord…?_ Ghost responded by drawing their nail. Blue froze. Hollow’s hand twitched towards their own. Ghost let the nail drop into a reverse grip and handed it to Blue.

_For safekeeping._ Hollow took a step forward.

_**Sibling…?**_ Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass reverberated throughout the cavern. It came from above. Hollow and Blue looked upwards, and saw their Siblings flooding into the lighthouse. As the two vessels watched, the lighthouse’s beam grew fainter and fainter, as what must have been thousands upon thousands of lumaflies bled out from the lighthouse’s entrance, like steam leaving a boiling kettle. The lighthouse grew dimmer, and the Void pressed in on the vessels’ vision once more. Hollow, Blue, and the assembled siblings watched Ghost intently. The little Lord bent their legs and inclined their head downwards, as they were wont to do when they focused the power of Soul to heal their wounds—yet their intent was clearly different this time. A ripple appeared in the still lake, directly beneath where Ghost was standing. The Void began to stir, swirling lazily around Ghost. Another ripple, larger than the last, emanated from the same spot. The Void fog spun faster and faster, like a dust devil beginning to form at Ghost’s feet. Suddenly, in a flash, Ghost’s form morphed from their usual self to their shade. Tendrils of pure Void lashed out like angry pseudopods from the bottom of Ghost as the surface of the lake began to bubble and splash. Hollow gripped their nail tightly, ready for anything. Blue drew theirs, but only to follow Hollow’s lead. Without warning, Ghost lashed out with their Void tendrils at the lake, sending droplets of Void splattering everywhere. They had latched onto something. The liquid Void splashed this way and that as whatever Ghost was dragging in resisted at first, but soon the struggle stopped as the creature succumbed to its Lord’s will.

With a great heave, Ghost yanked the creature out of the viscous Void soup, tossing it back onto the solid rock floor of the cavern. With a wet _schlop_, it smacked down on the ground, looking like a bulbous bloated blob of black tar. Void splattered the surrounding area, marring the vessels’ cloaks with black stains. Slowly, the three living siblings approached the Void blob. It wriggled and squirmed, slowly taking shape as it drew the dispersed Void back into itself, coalescing its form into something familiar. Although as it took shape it was crouched down, Blue could easily see that at its full height, it surpassed both Ghost and Blue in height, but not Hollow. Its figure was unlike any other bug Blue had seen, with six limbs and a strange, teardrop-like head. As it stood to its feet and turned around to face the three of them, Blue saw that its eyes were, like the siblings, seemingly nothing more than glowing white saucers imprinted on its face. Ghost knew who this was—the Collector.

“_Ohohoho! My Lord! My beautiful Lord!_” it laughed, flexing its fingers and creeping closer, its eyes squinting up in glee. In a whirl of Void, Hollow was there between them, its nail leveled at the Collector’s throat. The other Void creature chortled, clasping its hands together in pairs.

“_What a sight! What a wonderful sight! __To begin anew! How wonderful!_” And then it laughed jollily, its voice echoing throughout the caverns.

…Wait. _Voice?!_

Blue spun to face Ghost, who had yet to return to their corporeal form.

_A voice?_ Blue asked in astonishment. Ghost nodded.

_**For help in investigation,**_ answered the Lord of Shades. Now Blue understood why they had come down to the Abyss. With the Collector, a creature made of Void yet able to speak, they would be able to bridge the gap between the Sentinels and the other bugs of Hallownest. This strange, joyous creature was the key!

Blue walked over to the Collector, looking up at it. Gasping in surprise (or was it pleasure?) the Collector grabbed Blue and pulled them up to look at the vessel closely.

“_What a precious creature!_” Suddenly, a Void tendril lashed out at the Collector’s hands, checking them. With a yelp of surprise, the Collector dropped Blue and looked over to Ghost.

_**No jars**_, Ghost said. _**No capture, no take; only protect and talk. **__**And no grubs!**_The Collector seemed to deflate a bit at first, but soon returned to their usual peppy self.

“_Hohoho! If that is the Lord’s wish!_” Ghost nodded, and began to drift back the way they came, towards the chamber with all the vessel corpses.

_**No more here; back to home.**_ Blue followed, but Hollow paused, tilting their head.

_**Sibling?**_ Asked Hollow. Ghost turned. The larger vessel pointed towards Ghost’s still shade-like form.

_**Sibling is still… **_Hollow gestured vaguely. Ghost looked down, noticing their different form for what seemed like the first time. Their shade eyes blinked in surprise. The attendant Void creatures watched as Ghost’s skirtlike lower tendrils flared out and their head tilted downward in an imitation of their focusing stance. Yet, it failed to produce results. Ghost remained in their shade form. They began to radiate discomfort and agitation. Hollow approached Ghost, hand outstretched. Ghost shied away, curling inwards. A new emotion pierced into the vessels’ minds like a hot iron—fear.

_Do not think_—

_**Sibling**_—

_Do not feel_—

“_My Lord?_”

_Do not_—

Ghost wrapped their tendrils around themselves defensively.

_**Don’t come closer**__**!**_ They screeched, their words reverberating in the minds of their subjects.

_King_— Blue’s words were cut short by a warning slash of one of Ghost’s tendrils.

_No will to break_—

The siblings were pressing in around them again.

_Do not will_—

They could feel a surge; they tried to quash it.

_Do not break_—

Gods, how it wanted to be free.

_Must not break_—

Hollow reached out to them once more. Ghost tried to focus—

_**I can’t**_—

A piercing shriek tore through the caverns. Siblings scattered in fear as Void erupted from Ghost’s form. The shockwave threw back Blue, who crashed against the wall and slumped to the ground, unmoving. The Collector yelped in surprise and hopped away. Only Hollow remained. Void whirled around Ghost like a tornado. Tall tendrils thrashed about, waving in the air or cutting deep scars through the rock. Hollow drew their nail. In the midst of the screaming, a voice echoed.

** …SIBLING…**

** _Right here__!_** Hollow dashed forward, their nail held out like a lance. They would end this swiftly. In a blur of black, a pair of tendrils swung out and knocked Hollow away. The great vessel rolled as they hit the ground and drove their nail into the rock. Hollow got up and ran back towards Ghost, avoiding a tendril as it crashed down where they were previously standing. Two more rose up and made to strike, but Hollow was still a knight. The vessel cut down the tendrils as they lashed out, sending their tips careening back towards the lake.

Ghost was almost indistinguishable from the writhing mass of tendrils, but Hollow could see their eyes. Those white disks never wavered; they stayed fixed on Hollow.

** _Coming__! _ _Coming__!_ **

**…HURRY… **There was a whimper in Ghost’s tone, and Hollow knew they were running out of time. Hollow bobbed and weaved through the tendrils, slicing away at what they couldn’t dodge. Tendrils fell and rocks flew. Hollow’s cloak was torn and their mask was marred with Void, but they would not stop. Ghost needed them. They were so close—Ghost was only a nail’s length away. Hollow slashed down, but many hardy tendrils threw themselves in front of Ghost, blocking Hollow’s nail. Again and again Hollow hacked down at Ghost, sending Void flying. Tendrils sloughed to the ground at Hollow’s feet, melting into liquid Void. Just as it seemed Hollow would finally strike true, the remaining tendrils launched Ghost away, back into the lake.

** _Sibling!_ ** Hollow cried. They dashed over to the edge of the lake, where they could still see Ghost staring up at them.

**…SIBLING… I’M SCARED… PLEASE… **Hollow’s nail clattered to the ground as they reached out towards Ghost.

** _Grab it!_ ** Weakly, a tendril rose out of the Void lake, grasping drunkenly for Hollow’s hand. Stretching as far as they could, Hollow grasped it tightly and began to pull. More and more tendrils rose up and grabbed onto Hollow as Ghost tried desperately to escape the lake.

**…IT WANTS… TO BE WHOLE… AGAIN… **Hollow felt Ghost beginning to slip. Their eyes were losing focus, bleeding into the Void.

** _No!_ ** Hollow cried, pulling with all their effort. ** _Sibling, don’t go!_ **

**…So cold… So deep… **Hollow let out a screech of their own as Ghost’s eyes started to fade away, three more pairs of eyes beginning to coalesce as Ghost’s eyes began to narrow to slits. Black tears ran freely down Hollow’s mask, staining it as they struggled with all their might to yank Ghost free.

…**I… Don’t want… To be _we… _**A rumble echoed through the cavern. Everything began to shake. The tendrils holding onto Hollow began to slacken.

**_…Tell sister… I…_ **A shudder passed through the Void lake. It trembled and gurgled, as from its depths a light began to pierce through. Beams of radiant energy burst through the lake, and just as soon as they began, they ceased. Only the fading sound of a faraway squawk remained. All the resistance to Hollow’s pulling suddenly faded away, and Hollow yanked Ghost free of the lake. Their eyes reformed, and they landed with a splat on the ground behind Hollow. Ghost payed no mind to their sudden change in fortune, instead staring up at the cavern ceiling in disbelief.

** _…After all this time… Still alive?_ ** Hollow scrambled for their nail and in one fluid motion rolled over to kneel in front of Ghost, still lying on the ground.

_ Shlic-crunch. _They drove their nail through Ghost into the rock below. Then they pulled it out. Then they did it again. And again. And again. Ghost twitched each time Hollow stabbed down into them, Void bleeding out and pooling beneath them.

** _Sibling,_** **_please… _ **Hollow pleaded. Finally, with a great sigh, the Void bled away from Ghost’s form, revealing their mask, and reforming back into their normal body, cloak and all. Hollow dropped their nail and slumped to the ground, curling around Ghost protectively. A brief shuffle indicated that Blue had finally woken up. The Sentinel looked around, seeing the destruction the brief battle between Hollow and Ghost had wrought. They also saw Hollow shivering as they hugged Ghost close to their body, more tears running down their mask.

_ What happened…? _

“_Our Lord lost control! The Void took over! We need to get out of here!_” The Collector shouted, emerging from behind a rock. Hollow looked up when the Collector showed themselves, and brought themselves to their feet. Blue watched as Hollow stalked over to the Collector, and in one fluid motion, backhanded them across the face. Void particles flew out of the jolly god as the blow landed. The Collector staggered back, one hand reaching up to cup their face.

** _Coward,_ ** spat Hollow. Their projection rang with as much force in the Collector’s head as their previous blow. The Collector rubbed their cheek.

“_Noted, precious _ _ kin__. But we must make haste! Let’s go, let’s go! Before they wake up!_” Hollow begrudgingly gathered up Ghost in their arm and motioned for Blue to hop on their back. The smaller vessel did so, wrapping their arms around Hollow’s neck and holding on for dear life as they dashed off. Teleporting through the narrow corridors of the Abyss and sprinting through the wider areas, Hollow made their way back to their Siblings’ graveyard in record time. The Collector joined them soon after.

“_How do we get up?_” They asked, leaning back, as if that would help them see the top of the chamber, still obscured by Void. Blue slid off of Hollow’s back and hopped up to one of the raised platforms. They turned back and gestured for the Collector to follow. Hollow looked down at Ghost in their arms, and then to the Collector. They could get up, but not while carrying Ghost. Begrudgingly, Hollow held out Ghost’s limp form to the Collector.

“_Hmm? You’re giving them to me?”_ Hollow nodded. Without hesitation, the Collector swiped Ghost out of Hollow’s hands. Hollow’s shade bubbled with agitation.

** _Only for the trip up._ **

“_Oh, of course! Hohoho! I wouldn’t want to impose!_” Laughing, the Collector began to hop after Blue, gradually making the ascent upwards. Hollow’s shade quivered in an inaudible growl. They didn’t like having to let Ghost out of their sight, especially given what just happened, but it was only for a few minutes.

Soon, the whole party was assembled on the platform suspended above the Abyss. Blue and the Collector hadn’t had a conversation on the way up. There had been talking aplenty, but most of it was the Collector’s inane babbling, punctuated by bouts of laughter. Blue had ignored them for the most part. Hollow had joined them soon after they reached the top, immediately taking Ghost from the Collector. Light flooded in from the outside, though that might have been due to their eyes having adjusted to the darkness. The trio exited in silence, mutually understanding that their first destination would be the closest hot spring. However, Hollow paused after walking through the gate’s threshold, looking back over their shoulder, just like they had all those years ago. The Void continued to seep out of the opening, the great seal the King had placed long gone. Blue and the Collector noticed that Hollow had stopped, and turned to face him.

“_What are you doing?_” asked the Collector. Hollow wordlessly handed Ghost to Blue, who could barely hold them in their arms. The Collector felt a twinge of indigence at that, but it was covered up by their curiosity. Hollow advanced back towards the wide open archway, drawing their nail.

The King would never have approved of this brazen independence—indeed, their father certainly would have been furious. Ghost would likely reprimand them, not for acting on their own, but acting without consulting them. Hornet would surely chastise them for acting on impulse, rather than thinking things through. But none of them understood. None of them had been locked up, alone in a room with a god screaming in their mind. None of them had to suffer silently for so long that time ceased to have any meaning. None of them had been forced to relive their regrets and their failures again and again and again and again and again and—

…Hollow clenched their fist. They would not allow themselves to sow resentment against their family. Regardless of what they thought, it had to be done. Hollow would not allow any more harm to come to their beloved sibling, King, and Lord. Not again. _ Never _ again. Raising their nail high, Hollow hacked at the stone surrounding the archway, creating deep cracks in the ceiling and walls. Wedging their nail into the cracks, they pried them open, causing massive boulders to come tumbling down. The Collector and Blue watched as Hollow sealed up the gate with rocks, piling up so many that there was no indication that the gate had ever been there.

Without sparing a moment to consider the ramifications of their handiwork, Hollow turned on their heel, scooped Ghost out of Blue’s arms, and strode away.

. . .

Ghost awoke on a floating platform, surrounded by grey clouds and particles of essence. They knew immediately they were in a dream—but whose dream? They looked around. There were no identifying features whatsoever. The platform they were on was the only platform around. Although light did not emanate from anywhere, the area was still lit. Ghost chalked that up to dream logic. The small vessel paced around the edges of the platform, testing to see if the dream would raise up any others, like dreams usually did. Sure enough, another platform appeared midair, leading upwards. Ghost jumped onto it. Another came into being, then another. Ghost climbed up the series of levitating platforms, jumping from one to another, slowly growing closer and closer to the bottom of the clouds. Eventually, Ghost broke through the clouds and emerged above them, looking out on a vast horizon of grey. They were on a large platform of ornate metal, decorated in the manner of the white palace. In every direction, the sky continued on infinitely, in an unchanging drab grey tone. However, when Ghost looked to the West, they saw something peculiar. A great circle of perfect black rested on the horizon, giving off waves of Void energy. Although there were no points of reference Ghost could have used, they knew that it was far off, too far away to fathom the distance. Yet, as Ghost looked closer, they could see a single dot of light in the darkness, like a pinhole in a great woven tapestry.

“I suppose I should thank you.” The voice was like a deep throaty whisper, little more than a breath. Ghost whirled around, reaching for a nail they immediately realized they had given to Blue beforehand. Yet, when they saw the source of the voice, they froze.

“You have succeeded where all others have failed.” The Pale King stood on the opposite end of the platform, glowing dimly. The old god approached, his robes dragging on the ground behind them. Ghost had only ever seen him up close _alive_ once before. Now that he was in front of them, Ghost could see that the Wyrm was only about a head taller than them. The Pale King looked past Ghost, towards the black circle on the horizon.

“Your handiwork is admirable. You left almost nothing of her behind. The minute amount of her essence which still survives is most likely thanks to the few—including yourself—who still remember her.” Ghost continued to stare up at the Pale King in disbelief. This couldn’t be the real Wyrm. This was only a projection, a memory… But whose memory? Did they somehow delve into Hollow’s dreams? The Wyrm looked down at Ghost and hesitantly reached out a hand from beneath their robes. Then he stopped. After a few moments more, he retracted his hand.

“But, that isn’t the real reason why I have to thank you, is it?” The Pale King turned and began to pace.

“No, not at all. I have to thank you because you saved me. I was _ not. _ For the longest time, I was _ not._ Yet now? I _ am. _I must say, being annihilated isn’t how I like to spend my eternities. It’s awfully uneventful. I’m sure you of all bugs would know. Hm? Oh, of course. You do not understand, even though you have united the Void under your will—a stunning feat indeed. Not even one such as I could have accomplished such a thing, but you? Well, if anyone were to do it, it would be one of my spawn. I like what you have done with the Void. It is calmer now, with one to guide it. But what was I saying? Ah, yes. Forgive me, I have spent a long time being dead.

“Do you recall when you broke into the White Palace?” Ghost nodded. How could they forget the buzzsaws? The Pale King chuckled.

“Yes, the buzzsaws. Those were always my favourite. It’s funny, the things that appear in our dreams. When I hid away myself, my palace, and my retainers, I wanted so desperately to be safe. I wanted to escape her. The palace was a death-trap on its own, but my desire for safety was so great that it conjured up new traps, new ingenious methods of protection. I sequestered myself away behind Kingsmoulds and buzzsaws and everything I could conjure up that would distance me from the dangers of the outside world. A lot of good _ that _did me.” The Wyrm scoffed.

“But all the buzzsaws in Hallownest couldn’t protect me from the Void… You must have seen what became of my Kingsmould, yes? The gatekeeper? The one in whose dream I hid the White Palace?” He shook his head. “My lighthouse failed. The Void seeped through. In the absence of the Radiance, since she had been sealed away, it clamored to consume the next greatest light.” The Wyrm laughed once at his own expense. “Ironic, that in my attempts to seal away the Radiance and save myself and my kingdom, I would start the events that would lead to the downfall of both. Wouldn’t you agree, my Pure Vessel?” He turned to face Ghost, who had tilted their head in confusion. For a moment, the Pale King seemed to wonder why Ghost did not respond. Then it hit him.

“…Forgive me,” he said, turning away in shame. “I forget myself. You vessels are so easy to talk to. You all… Look at me the same. You’re all so alike in the ways that you’re silent.” Ghost didn’t motion to communicate with the Wyrm in any way. What could they have said? The Pale King stared down, lost in thought. The King abruptly continued his previous train of thought,

“We gods never truly die. We merely… recede. So long as our memory persists, we can never truly be gone from this world. So I languished, alone, my mind suppressed by the Void which had devoured me and left me a hollowed out husk. That is… Until you came along. You cut down my husk. You used that mystical nail on my corpse. Unbeknownst to you, you plucked me from the clutches of the Void, and here I have remained—in your dreams.” Ghost took a step back. This was _ their _ dream?! The Pale King eyed them out of the corner of his eye.

“Yes, this is your dream, vessel. Or should I say, it is the Void’s dream? You are the godhead of the Void, at this point. Its will is yours.” Ghost shook their head. Their will was _ nothing _ like the Void’s. The Void wanted to unite. It wanted to become one. It wanted to consume and spread and destroy all individuality. It wanted to remake the world in its own image. Ghost knew because they had seen it—they had felt it. The Pale King approached Ghost once more.

“You disagree?” Ghost nodded. The Wyrm snorted in amusement. “Very well then. What _ is _ your will, vessel? Do you have one?” Almost without thinking, the words came to mind.

_ Family. Rebuild. Live. Make better. Help. _The Pale King listened as Ghost listed off the things that gave them purpose—the things that motivated them. And when Ghost had exhausted the list, the Pale King nodded slowly.

“Those are good things to will, vessel, dare I say even quite noble,” he said, a spark of wonder, possibly even pride or admiration worming its way into his words. The Pale King paused there, mulling over his next words. It seemed to Ghost like he had something he wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure how to phrase it, or perhaps he knew how to phrase it, but wasn’t sure if saying it was worth it. Ghost decided to encourage him, stepping forward and looking him square in the eye. It seemed to work, for the Pale King quietly inhaled to begin their next sentence.

“Where did you learn to will such things, vessel? I did not teach you anything of the sort. Not even your chosen sibling was privy to such high thought. The answer came easily. It was what Hollow had told them they had felt towards Hornet when they had asked. It was what they felt when they looked at their siblings. It was what they felt when they looked out over the city, seeing what they had built. It was what they felt, even after everything that had transpired, as they looked up at their father.

_ Love_, they answered. It was a simple statement of truth—no more, no less. Yet the Pale King seemed floored by it. A shiver shook its way down his exoskeleton as the Wyrm took in what Ghost had said.

“Love? A vessel of mine, feeling love?” Ghost nodded. The Pale King stared down at Ghost, the gears (or perhaps interlocking sawblades) in his head churning and working away as he processed the new information. Eventually, the Pale King began to laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

“To think, that a vessel created for the sole purpose of being hollow would develop such nobility! Yes, they were born of gods, royal gods no less, but even with all my artifice I was unable to tear away the easiest emotion to quash! Is there no end to my folly? Truly you have exposed the depths of my ineptitude—for even despite my best efforts, and all of my failures, and your defective nature, you _ still _defeated the Old Light, a feat which not even I at the height of my power could have dreamed of!” The Pale King continued to laugh.

“Fate is not without a sense of humor, it seems! A living monument to my failure has appeared before my eyes!” At this point, the Wyrm was raving to the sky, crying out to the horizon. Finally, his energy spent, the King slumped to the ground and remained there. Ghost slowly approached the ancient monarch and sat down next to him. A long silence passed between them, but not an uncomfortable one. There was simply nothing to say—nothing that could have been said.

“Perhaps it is best that I remain here,” the Pale King suddenly said. “It seems that Hallownest fares well under new governance.” Now it was Ghost’s turn to feel ashamed. How could they tell the King, their father, that all the good they had hitherto brought about was the product of blind luck and stumbling into the right solutions?

“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that everything is hanging on by a thread, and that you’re only managing to keep things together through sheer dumb luck. I should know—I’ve been there. I was a novice King too, once. Trust me, things will be fine. You get better at it as time goes on. Us gods… We have ways of adapting, of persisting despite the odds. Look at me. Look at _ her_. I would imagine the God of Void would be particularly adept at mastering new situations, no?” Ghost didn’t answer. They focused on the horizon. Was it getting lighter? The Pale King followed their gaze.

“Ah, it looks like you’re going to be waking up soon. Very well. This couldn’t have lasted forever, anyway. You have your duties to attend to.” The pair stood up in unison and faced one another. Unable to think of a better gesture, Ghost bowed. Chuckling to himself, the Pale King returned it, inclining his head down.

“Do not fret, little vessel. I am sure this will not be our last meeting. Should you ever need any advice, you know where to find me.” The sky above and below had turned pure white at this point, and even the King was beginning to fade from view.

“Goodbye, my vessel,” he said, his voice growing ever more distant.

“Come visit soon. I will be waiting. I have nothing better to do.” The King paused as his form faded to white. He said something else, but it was little more than the echo of a whisper, and Ghost could not understand it.

It almost sounded like “my child.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait on this one. Between coursework, stress, and a rather unwelcome bout of depression, I wasn't able to find the motivation or time to work on this fic. Nevertheless, although my diligence and ardor to write may waver, my desire to continue this work does not. Thank you for your patience.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for the positive response thus far. It really does make my day every time I see a comment with a nice message. Sometimes I still can't believe that I've managed to garner such a large response (large to me, at least. I know there are other fics with far greater followings, ha-ha!)
> 
> Stay tuned for more.


	4. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which answers are sought and lines are crossed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 1/8/20: Fixed some minor typos and formatting issues. Did some small edits to make the writing flow better. Normal writing schedule starting back up on the 13th.
> 
> EDIT 5/25/20: Fixed typos and formatting issues.

Another day, another weave. Hornet liked taking the time out of her day to spend some time weaving with her students. For an hour or two, she forgot all about the treatises, the projects, the legislation, and the crushing burden of monarchy. She could immerse herself in something she genuinely enjoyed—a small, almost daily gift to herself to keep her sane. The soft murmur of relaxed voices calmly chatting with one another was a welcome contrast to the silence of her throne room. She liked to try and pick out phrases or words as she weaved. It wasn’t eavesdropping, she often told herself. It wasn’t spying or watching from afar, like she had so often done before… everything. They were speaking in a common area. If they didn’t want other bugs to hear what they were saying, they would’ve taken their conversation somewhere more private, right? At least, that was generally what Hornet told herself to justify listening in on her students’ conversations.

Right now, as she sat in a dark, dusty corner weaving together a replacement cloak for a Sentinel who had been surprised by a rambunctious aspid, she focused on the closest conversation she could hear. It was between Vera and Neth, who were friends and neighbors back in the City of Tears. They spoke in hushed voices, and were leaning in close to one another as they talked. Hornet scrutinized their behavior. They had pushed their workstations closer together to speak with one another. It looked like Vera’s hands were shaking. Hornet allowed a mote of disapproval to lodge itself in her chest. She had taught her better than that—steady hands were of utmost importance while weaving, to ensure the highest quality end product. Setting her current project aside, Hornet stood up and strode over to the pair. Time to be a Queen.

“Vera,” Hornet said, interrupting the two of them. The pair flinched momentarily in surprise. The bug in question quickly stood up to bow. Her chair scraped against the ground, and she bumped her side against her desk in her haste. Hornet winced internally.

“Queen Hornet,” Vera said. “What do you need from me?”

“Your hands are shaking, and you’ve moved your desks out of alignment,” Hornet said bluntly. It wasn’t an accusation, merely a statement. (Well, maybe it was a little bit of an accusation—or a lot.) Vera looked down and away, wringing her hands.

“I—I’m sorry, Queen Hornet. I’m… distracted.” Hornet crossed her arms. Vera realized what she said and shook her hands, trying to backpedal on her speech.

“Not like that! I would never shirk work! I just—I have a lot on my mind, lately. Today.” Hornet moved over and glanced down at Vera’s weave. As she thought, her unsteady hands had certainly had a negative impact on the weave. Yet, she was still on pace with everyone else, and besides the lower craftsmanship, she did not detect any glaring errors. That was evidence enough Vera had focused on her work. Hornet looked back to her student, who was trying her best to look small, and avoid shaking.

“Relax,” Hornet said. “I can tell from your work you haven’t been slacking off. Your hands, however, are an issue.” Vera hung her head.

“I’m sorry, Queen Hornet.” The Queen waved her hands to stop Vera.

“No, no—none of that. You don’t need to be ashamed. Have you taken a break today?”

“Well, no—”

“All right. Consider yourself on break. Have you eaten?” Vera blinked.

“I had a slice of leftover bread for breakfast.” Hornet sighed. Sometimes, she wondered how these bugs had managed to survive the Infection.

“Very well, then. Come with me. I have some stew in the kitchen. We can split it—I can’t finish the whole thing.” Vera gasped.

“Queen Hornet! I couldn’t!” But Hornet had already started walking, and waved along Vera to follow. The bug had no choice but to obey the orders of the Queen of Deepnest.

“I insist. You need some food in your belly. That’s probably why your hands are shaking so bad.” Together, the two walked down the dusty corridors of the Den. Dim lanterns hung from the natural folds of the hardened silk walls lit their path. The aged wooden floor creaked under their steps. Nevertheless, it was better than when Hornet had first found it. The Distant Village was designed for weavers and other folk of the Nest, not bugs of Hallownest. It had been a challenge installing floors and other such things the non-arachnids needed to navigate, since they couldn’t scuttle around on silk like denizens of the Nest. Hornet rounded a corner and Vera trailed behind.

“It’s… Not that,” Vera said slowly. Hornet could feel her student’s anxiety and shame. She didn’t need to see her to know that she was staring down at the floor and wringing her hands. Hornet found the kitchen door and quickly opened it, beckoning Vera inside with her.

“Well, what is it, then?” Vera didn’t answer. Hornet took note of that, and quickly set about getting the stew out of the icebox and grabbing a pan to reheat it with. Vera stood awkwardly by the table, not sure if it was proper for her to sit. Hornet glanced back.

“Take a seat, please. You don’t need to be so formal.” Vera quietly thanked Hornet and stiffly sat down in a chair. Hornet poured the stew into the pan and lit the stove. Then, she sat across from Vera, who appeared to have taken a keen interest in watching the stew reheat.

“Vera,” Hornet said perhaps a little more forcefully than she had meant to. Vera quickly snapped her view back to Hornet.

“Y-yes?” Hornet tried to put on her most empathetic look.

“Your behavior is worrying me. What’s wrong?” Vera curled in on herself, crossing her arms over her thorax. Finally, she answered,

“It’s my mate… She’s gone missing.” Hornet tilted her head.

“Missing?” Vera nodded.

“Yes. The last I saw of her, she told me she was going to go up to Fog Canyon and collect some Uoma jelly, because my hatching day is coming up, and she knows I love that jelly… I told her to be careful, and she always is, but… I can’t help but wonder if…” Hornet waited patiently for Vera to continue. The bug took a couple deep breaths and started up her story again.

“I… I went to the Sentinels about it, you know? I asked the first one I could find when she wasn’t there when I got home. I asked if they could go look for her. And… you know the Sentinels; they don’t speak. But the one I asked nodded and started off towards there. Then, the next day, after I got home they knocked on my door. I knew it was the same one because of their horns. And they said to me—well, I mean, they didn’t_ say _ anything, but they shook their head. And I felt this… horrible feeling, because I was thinking, _ oh, gods. I’ve killed the bug I love._ But… I didn’t want to; I was afraid, but I asked anyway if they had found her dead. But they shook their head. So… she wasn’t in Fog Canyon.” Vera paused again.

“The uomas and oomas… They don’t… What if they…?” Hornet could guess where this was going.

“The jellies don’t consume flesh. If she had died there, the Sentinel would have found her.” Vera nodded slowly.

“I… that’s good. But… She’s still missing. And… She went out there because of me, and… and…” Vera whimpered and buried her face in her hands. Hornet sat there quietly as she let the female bug sob quietly, only getting up to pour the stew out of the pan into a pair of bowls. She gently placed one bowl in front of Vera and sat down with the other. Gradually, Vera quieted herself and began to eat her stew. Hornet watched her, trying to match her pace. She had lied about not being able to finish the stew. She easily could have finished both hers and Vera’s portions, but she needed to get the bug out of the workshop, both for her work’s sake and her own. She needed the food, too. Hornet had learned over the course of a long life spent in the wilds that nutrition was not to be taken lightly.

Eventually, the two of them finished their bowls. Hornet gathered them up and tossed them in the kitchen’s washbasin for later.

“Vera, why don’t you go home early today?” Vera straightened up.

“I—no, I couldn’t.”

“Let me rephrase that: I think you should go home early. I’ll walk you back.” There it was again—that protective spark. Hornet mentally reprimanded herself for the impulsiveness. She had duties. What was she thinking?

“Well… If you insist, Queen Hornet.”

“I do.” What? No! Her place was in the Den! Hallownest was Ghost’s problem! But…

Maybe this was something Ghost needed to know about. Surely, the community of bugs living in Hallownest was yet small enough that a disappearance was noteworthy? Yes, of course. This could be news to Ghost. They would likely want to pursue this. That way, Vera would get the closure she wanted, and Hornet could have her excuse to get out of the Den.

Then again, she shouldn’t.

...But she wanted to.

Hadn’t she told Ghost she would visit often? But they had just all attended the talks with the Mantis Lords and others only a week ago. Would it be too soon if she returned now? Would Ghost care? She _ was _ their sister, after all. Did one need an excuse to drop in to visit family?

“When should I leave?”

“What time is it?” Vera told her. After she did, Hornet realized she wasn’t listening. She was too busy thinking about whether or not she should make the trip to the City of Tears.

“Now is as good a time as ever,” said the Queen.

“I’ll get my things then.”

“We’ll meet at the stag station,” Hornet said decisively. With that, the pair separated. Vera went to gather up the things she had brought with her to work, and Hornet tied some thread to her needle.

“Can’t believe I’m doing this,” Hornet mumbled.

. . .

Ghost awoke to warmth, and dark shapes dancing in front of their vision. From the quiet splash of water, Ghost knew immediately they were in a hot spring. As their vision focused, they saw Hollow and the Collector staring down at them expectantly. Their thorax ached, and their mask stabbed with pain. An imperceptibly quiet, scratchy breath escaped their throat and Ghost sat up. The three had laid them in a shallow part of the hot spring where they could lie down without being submerged.

_**Sibling?**_ Hollow asked hesitantly. Ghost rubbed their mask.

_Ouch,_ they said._ But fine. _Hollow visibly released all the tension they were holding in their body.

_**Glad.**_ Hollow brought them into a hug. Ghost returned it, squeezing their sibling’s torso tightly. Ghost looked around. They couldn’t find a trace of their Sentinels’ Captain.

_Blue?_ Ghost questioned.

_ ** Went back to the city. Wanted to stay here. Had to use… persuasion.** _ Persuasion. Ghost grimaced internally. Hollow didn’t use the word “persuasion” unless they meant that they had to resort to orders, intimidation, or even force. Ghost guessed it was the first—Hollow would never harm another vessel. Nonetheless, Ghost prodded Hollow’s mind with a brief questioning impulse. Hollow was quick to answer:

_**Had enough help and protection here. Duty called from the city, not here.**_ Ghost sat up. Of course. Blue’s place was coordinating the Sentinels back in the City of Tears. Come to think of it, how long had Ghost been—

The Collector politely coughed.

“My Lord, care to explain?” Ghost pulled away from Hollow and fixed the Collector with a steely gaze.

_ Complicated. _ The Collector bristled.

“Could you be more specific, my Lord? That’s kind of vague.” Hollow took a step forward, but Ghost waved their hand in a conciliatory gesture. In truth, Ghost themselves didn’t quite understand what had happened. It felt like they were drowning, like they were losing control of their own body. They had fought claw and nail to recover control from that… primal, all-consuming desire to unite. They had felt it—the pull of the sea, the call of the Void. It was that same pull which drove them to ascend to godhood at the height of the Pantheon of Hallownest, that very same which bade them consume the Godseeker and her kin, and devour all of Hallownest, until all was Void. They were able to escape the first time. Ghost knew that without the help of their siblings and the timely intervention of that tiny fragment of the Radiance which still remained, they wouldn’t have gotten so lucky this time.

At any rate, it seemed the Void was not so empty as Ghost had previously thought. Although it annihilated everything it consumed, higher beings seemed to be able to survive their assimilation, though in a kind of dormant, muted form. Perhaps there was something at the heart of gods which could not be reduced to nothing? A kind of indivisible, immortal part of their beings which persisted so long as they were remembered? That would certainly explain why the Radiance did what she did. Perhaps the only way to truly kill a god would be to forget it.

But that was neither here nor there.

_How long __asleep__?_ Ghost asked.

_**Week, maybe? Few days at least,**_ answered Hollow.

_WHAT?_ Immediately Ghost shot up out of the hot spring and started dashing away. Hollow appeared in front of Ghost in a burst of shade, radiating alarm.

_ **Sibling! ** _ They called. _ **Rest! ** _Ghost shook their head and dodged between Hollow’s legs.

_ Need to get back to the City! Need to find the missing bugs! _ _ So many more could be missing! _

_ **That can wait; heal first!** _ Hollow cried. Ghost turned around and stared right into Hollow’s eyes.

_ No! _Ghost projected, infusing their words with the strength of a steel wall. Ghost was clear: there would be no negotiation.

_Already __better._ _N__eed to go. __N__ow_._ No arguing. _Hollow made no outward gesture aside from bowing their head in deference, but Ghost could tell from the brief wave of surprise and apprehension that they had come off perhaps a bit too harsh. It only lasted for half a second before Hollow quashed their emotions like they always did, but it was enough for Ghost to interpret their neutral posture as something more akin to a kicked puppy. Ghost took a deep breath and tried to relax. They were still on edge from what just happened, and it made them come off as abrasive.

_ Turning into sister… _ Ghost thought to themselves before reaching out to Hollow’s mind with apologetic and soothing feelings. Thankfully, Hollow was receptive, and Ghost felt them relax. Well, that was something they had above Hornet—they actually talked to their siblings, instead of ignoring them. Waving the Collector along, Ghost started off back towards the City of Tears. The jolly god trailed behind, wondering just why their lord seemed to have an aversion to imitating their sister.

Ghost would tell their siblings how they felt one day, but right now, they just couldn’t. How could they possibly understand? None of them, save Hollow and Hornet, were gods, but not even those two could sympathize. They weren’t the Lord of Shades. They didn’t have the Voidheart lodged firmly in their carapace. They hadn’t ascended, not in the way Ghost had. They didn’t know how it _felt_ to be a god—viscerally, completely. They hadn’t felt that moment of panic as they realized that they were being swallowed up, turning into something _else…_ Something that they knew would destroy everything they had come to hold dear.

Perhaps it was better that way. Ghost wouldn’t wish this burden on their siblings.

. . .

Hornet and Vera stepped off the stag at King’s Station. After thanking the Old Stag, the pair began walking to Vera’s house.

“It’s not too far,” Vera said. Hornet hummed in response. Every time she visited the City of Tears, it still managed to seem wondrous to her. Hornet was glad for that. The way the city was cast in an aquatic blue light, with the tops of the buildings disappearing into the mist, and the constant rain showering down—nothing else was quite like it. The sound of rain was calming. It filled the air with sound, but not oppressively or disruptively. It was natural too, which was an improvement from the white noise of the workshop. Hornet allowed herself to stare upwards as she walked contemplatively through the city streets. When was the last time she had been to the City of Tears just to visit, without any official business lingering in the back of her mind?

Hornet’s head turned as she watched the pair of Sentinels standing guard outside the ground-level doors to the Watcher’s Spire. Standing there so still and perfect, even in the cold rain, reminded her of Hollow—what little she could remember of them from before they had been sealed away. They were always so stoic, so stiff, like one of the Pale King’s automatons. Did they feel fear? Were they doubtful about being able to complete their duty? Or were they certain of their success? Did they desire to protect Hallownest, or only do as they were told? Who was the Wyrm to them? Questions, questions, questions. She could always ask Hollow, but… No, that would be too forward. How do you ask someone to remember a past which has been irrevocably tainted by catastrophe?

Hornet was so lost in her thoughts she didn’t notice Vera stopping at the statue to Hollow. She nearly passed by her student before catching herself. Walking up beside Vera, Hornet followed her gaze. She was looking up at Hollow’s mask, her expression unreadable.

“I always stop by here on my way back home to pay my respects,” Vera said. “Sometimes I bring flowers, but most of the time I just take some time to stand here and look.” Glancing down, Hornet saw some flowers placed near the base of the memorial, around the plaque.

“Why?” Hornet asked.

“Tradition, I suppose. It’s just a thing people do. The Hollow Knight sacrificed themselves, right? It’s only proper that we honor them.” Hornet scratched the base of her mask, trying to wrap her head around the strange reverence the bugs of Hallownest held for her sibling.

“Some people like to burn incense or say prayers, but I was never one for that kind of stuff.” Hornet was taken aback.

“They worship the Hollow Knight?” Vera nodded.

“Especially now, since they’re actually here with us instead of just a statue. It’s hard not to look at them and feel like you’re looking at a god. They’re so tall, and strong, and they just… have an air about them, you know?” Hornet shrugged.

“I was never… religiously inclined. I’m of the belief that people can make anything into a god, whether it be geo, power, fame, or even other bugs. Sure, there are certainly higher beings out there in the world, but I wouldn’t make the leap to call them _gods_—not in the way people think of gods, at least.” Vera made a noise of acknowledgment, but not much else. The two female bugs stood there for a while before Vera kept moving along. They took a long, winding road through the streets and alleys of the city. Rather than take the elevators, Vera instead chose to lead them up many flights of stairs instead.

“Vera, do we really need to take the stairs?” Hornet asked, doing her best not to sound concerned or exasperated. This wasn’t too much exertion for her—quite the opposite, really. Hornet was grateful for the workout, but Vera was looking winded. The bug in question nodded.

“I always take the stairs up. My home isn’t so far from here. Besides, the elevators give me the creeps, anyway.”

“Hmm?” Hornet tilted her head. “Why’s that?” Vera shrugged.

“All the noise and the chains, it just gives me a bad feeling. Sometimes I even swear I hear rattling in the walls of the shafts. I know it’s probably just vermin, but it’s always startling, you know?” Hornet didn’t. She never took the elevators on account of her always having her needle and thread, and the former protector of Hallownest had bigger things to fear than vermin.

“I understand,” Hornet lied. Obviously, Vera bought it, because she continued to speak about elevators, and other minor irksome things about the city that only a resident could understand. Hornet didn’t mind. It was better for Vera to blabber on about meaningless drivel than worry herself sick over something out of her control. So Hornet let Vera speak as they walked, eventually surmounting a final flight of stairs and setting off towards a residential area.

“...And that’s why I never go shopping on the third day of the week. Oh, hey! We’re here,” Vera finished matter-of-factly.

“Oh yes, of course,” Hornet said, having completely tuned out Vera. Then she processed what her walking companion had said and looked up.

“Er, which one is your house?” They were all the same to Hornet: small rectangular houses with slanted tile roofs designed to resist and deflect the constant drizzle from above. Vera pointed it out, and together they walked up to the door. Vera produced her keys, swiftly unlocked the door, and started inside.

“Would you like to come in? I can put on the kettle,” she asked, turning back. Hornet shook her head.

“No thank you. I need to get back to the Nest. Please take care of yourself.” Vera seemed to deflate. Her smile faded.

“Right, of course,” said the bug. “You have your duties.” Hornet winced internally, but didn’t say anything in response. Vera was right, after all.

“Well, I’ll see you soon then, Queen Hornet.” The girl bowed respectfully, and Hornet inclined her head. The two having said their goodbyes, Hornet quickly wheeled around, tossed out her needle, and zipped off back towards the stag station. Without a less mobile bug to drag her down, Hornet flew through the city, the rain pattering against her mask and cloak midair as the wind whipped by her. Minutes flew by as quickly as she, and Hornet finally landed with a splash in front of the Tower. The pair of Sentinels standing guard didn’t even flinch. Smoothing out her cloak, Hornet began the last leg of her journey on foot.

But Hornet paused. Hadn’t she justified this whole trip by saying that she ought to tell Ghost of the disappearance in the first place? She was here at the Tower. She might as well. It wouldn’t take too long, right? The Nest wouldn’t spontaneously combust in the time she was gone.

...Then again, if the prototypes in her workshop were to somehow be disturbed—_no! Don’t go thinking things like that. That won’t help anyone._ The Queen shook herself and walked over to the entrance to the tower. For the first time, Hornet saw the Sentinels move. They stepped in front of the doorway, blocking Hornet from entering. She looked down at the diminutive vessels in the blue cloaks she herself had likely weaved. Did they really just do that?

“Let me through,” Hornet ordered. They did not respond—not that they could have. The pair stared up at her, immobile.

“I am the Queen of the Nest, and I command you to let me in, Sentinel. I need to speak with your King.” One of them shook their head. Hornet stared down at the vessel with annoyance.

“No? What do you mean, no?” The vessels glanced at each other. Carefully, the pair began to gesture in an attempt to get Hornet to understand. Crossing her arms, she watched them mime out… something.

“Walking? Walking in?” The first one shook their head and waved their arms in a negative gesture. It moved its arm forward and back, and repeated the gesture.

“Walking… out?” That earned a nod. “...Are you telling me to come back later?” They took a moment to think, conferred with their partner, then made a kind of so-so gesture. Then they paused and nodded hesitantly.

“You don’t sound very convinced,” Hornet said bluntly. The vessel stared back up at her. Hornet sighed.

“Well, will you at least be able to give them a message?”

“Ohoho! There won’t be need for that!” Without thinking, Hornet spun around and flared out the back of her cloak to make her seem larger—a defensive reflex. However, she dropped her guard (mostly) when she saw who was standing behind her.

“King of Hallownest. Hollow Knight.” Ghost and Hollow were looking at her expectantly, while the strange, four-armed creature that was accompanying them wrung its hands in glee.

“...Guest.”

“What a marvelous sibling for a most marvelous lord!” It bounced up to Hornet, its eyes positively beaming. In a flash Hornet’s needle was at its throat. The two Sentinels behind her drew their nails. The Collector giggled.

“What a feisty god you are… You would fit excellently in a perfect glass jar.”

“King of Hallownest, what is this creature?” They threw their head back and laughed without restraint. It was a shrill, ringing noise. Hornet immediately disliked it.

“I am the Collector!” Ghost walked up behind them and poked their leg.

“Hmm? Oh, right.” The Collector cleared their throat and stepped back. Bowing low to the ground, low enough that the tip of their head disturbed a puddle at their feet, the Collector said,

“I apologize most humbly for my behavior, Queen Hornet of the Nest. No matter how beautifully you would look in a jar, you don’t belong in a jar.” They turned their head to the side to look up at Ghost.

“How was that?” Ghost nodded. At once, the Collector straightened themselves up and stared at Hornet. Was she supposed to accept that apology? She would not—not until she got answers.

“King of Hallownest, may we retire to someplace more… private? And dry?” Hornet asked, slowly lowering her needle. Ghost nodded and stepped forward. As if on cue, the pair of Sentinels parted to either side, allowing the group to pass. The Collector skittered after Ghost. They would have been right on Ghost’s heels if not for Hollow, who not-so-subtly kept the Collector at arm’s length. Hornet felt a twinge of satisfaction. It seemed she was not the only one who had a distaste for that… whatever the Collector was. Refraining from indulging herself and shooting a smug glance to the Sentinel who had impeded, Hornet fell in behind her siblings.

At some point along the way, the Collector had walked off in a different direction. Hornet tried to ask where they were going, but they shouted something in that sing-song way of theirs about an office and a duty and scampered off. Then it was just Hollow, Ghost, and Hornet ascending the tower towards the barren throne room. Hornet didn’t speak on the way up, and her siblings didn’t prompt her to. When they arrived at the throne room, a table and chairs had been set up in the middle of the otherwise mostly empty room. The only other feature was Ghost’s throne—an old padded shellwood chair from the pleasure house. (Her siblings didn’t care much for appearances.)

Ghost hopped up onto one of the chairs and Hornet took the other seat, which was across from them. Hollow carefully sat down with their legs crossed. Normally, there would have been Sentinels standing guard inside the room, but it seemed they had vacated it. Had the Sentinels known that the trio had wanted some privacy? Who told them in the first place? It was clear that the vessels could communicate on some level, but how sophisticated was it? Hornet supposed she could always ask her siblings, but the intricacies of vessel speech seemed like it would be difficult to get across using gestures or answering yes or no questions.

“I’ve always found it curious how sometimes you vessels seem to read each other’s minds. It must be convenient, being so in sync with one another.”

_If only you knew,_ Ghost thought.

“If all the other bugs could cooperate so easily, this kingdom would have risen from the ashes in a fraction of the time. Unfortunately, we are not the Hive… though maybe that’s a good thing?” Ghost didn’t really care either way. Hornet shrugged.

“Either way, it doesn’t matter. We’re bugs, and they’re bees. Speaking of bugs, have you noticed any missing bugs recently?” Ghost tilted their head. What was Hornet getting at? Their sister leaned forward on the table and continued,

“One of my weaver students, today she was beside herself at work. She was talking about how her mate had gone missing. Back in the old days, I would’ve chalked it up to the infection claiming another victim, but now?” Ghost quietly listened, waiting for the Collector to return so they could explain everything to Hornet.

“Something isn’t right, and I don’t think it’s just me. The way she disappeared was too suspicious. I suppose she could’ve fallen into a pool of acid and dissolved, but what are the odds of that, now that you’ve cordoned off the dangerous areas? It doesn’t make sense for a bug to simply vanish without a trace, with no prior warning. Have your Sentinels reported anything similar?” Ghost nodded.

“Disappearances?” Nod.

“No trace of them? No sign of foul play? No suspicious behavior in the days beforehand?” Ghost continued to answer in the affirmative. Hornet paused.

“...How many?” Ghost and Hollow glanced at each other. Their eye sockets met for a couple seconds, then Ghost shrugged. Hornet stared at them with confusion.

“You don’t know?” They tilted their shell this way and that, then held up a hand. Hornet knew they were gesturing for her to wait, so she did, in silence. After several minutes, a Sentinel slipped into the room and trotted up to the three of them. Judging by the pin on its cloak, Hornet saw it was a Captain. The Sentinel Captain bowed and stood at attention, facing Ghost. Several seconds passed, during which Hornet assumed they were talking, then the Captain bowed again and produced a small scroll of silk, a large rolled-up sheet of parchment,and a piece of charcoal. The Captain gestured for them to gather around, so they did. Hornet got out of her chair and leaned down to watch them. Ghost hopped onto the table, causing it to wobble slightly, and stared down at the scroll on the table. Hollow just scooted over—even sitting, their height still surpassed Hornet’s.

The Captain first unfurled the sheet of parchment. Ghost took a few steps back, causing the table to wobble even more precariously. The Captain was unfazed and set the parchment—now clearly a map of the City of Tears—on the table. Although Ghost and Hollow recognized the map, Hornet did not. It was marked up with pins placed in seemingly random areas.

“Captain, what is this?” The Captain didn’t answer. Instead, they began to mark up the scroll with tally marks using the charcoal. Hornet watched as the marks multiplied, starting in one corner and slowly creeping across the entire scroll. She felt the pit of her stomach churn as she realized what the pins represented, and why the Sentinel was making tally marks on the parchment. _That_ many? The Captain wasn’t stopping. Once they had filled up the first side of the scroll, they just flipped it over and continued on the other. Finally, they stopped. The final count was forty-six missing bugs.

_Forty-six,_ Ghost repeated. _Forty six, __gone__. _Ghost’s shade churned and twisted inside. This was unacceptable. It was embarrassing. In their absence and their weakness, they had allowed forty-six of their subjects to disappear. What kind of King allowed such brazen and widespread misfortune to befall their loyal citizens? The Pale King, that’s who—the King who, despite Ghost’s irrepressible affection towards him, Ghost vowed to never imitate.

_Already failing. Already doing bad,_ Ghost seethed, more to themselves than anyone else.

_**Sibling…**_ Hollow tried to placate their sibling with soothing feelings and reassuring words, but it had no effect. Ghost wasn’t livid, nor were they mortified—vessels didn’t experience emotions to such an intense degree, but they were without a doubt very upset. Yet, whether it was with themselves, with the situation, or something else, Hollow didn’t know. Ghost had curled inward, shielding their thoughts with a haze of unpleasant emotions.

“Why haven’t you done anything sooner?” Hornet asked incredulously. Ghost stared up at her, not quite sure how to mime out that nobody had told them. In truth, keeping tabs on every Sentinel at the same time meant that everything they saw was kind of a blur. They didn’t remember the many times the Sentinels had heard of a missing bug. Their extended sight only helped them identify immediate threats to the citizens’ safety. If there was a crime in progress, they would know of it as soon as one of their Sentinels did, but for anything else? That was beyond their power. Hornet sighed.

“Well, what are you doing _now_?” Right on time, someone knocked on the door.

“Oh hell-o~” called the Collector. Hornet didn’t bother hiding her groan. Hollow stood up and snapped to attention with their nail held in front of their chest. The Captain stuffed the charcoal and scroll back in their robes and quickly began heading for the exit. Ghost didn’t react.

“I’m coming in,” called the jolly god, throwing open the door. With a crack, the door smacked the exiting Captain in the shell, sending them reeling back.

“If that was intended to be a heads-up, walking in while you’re calling it out defeats the purpose,” Hornet said. The Captain slowly turned their head to stare at the Collector with what Hornet swore was indignation, tromped out, and shut the door behind them with perhaps a little more force than necessary. The Collector ignored both Hornet and the injured Captain, sauntering up to Ghost.

“You summoned me, my Lord?” Ghost answered with a blank stare, but the Collector acted as if they had heard Ghost speak.

“Oh, of course!” The Void creature turned to Hornet, hands clasped together and eyes brimming with glee. Hornet leaned away from them as much as courtesy would allow.

“I am the answer to your troubles, good Queen. My Lord has pulled me from the sea to serve as their speaker! I am to help conduct the investigation with my superior skills of deduction, insight, and sniffing out precious little creatures that might have gotten themselves into trouble.” Hornet shuffled away, putting some distance between her and them.

“Well, you certainly speak plenty for all the Sentinels,” Hornet said in the most inoffensive tone she could muster. The Collector threw their head back and laughed.

“I am the mouth of the Void! What a wondrous station it is! To be so honored as to speak for my lord—oh, what a cause for great cheer! Hohoho!” While they were cackling, hands on their belly, Hornet glanced quickly up at Hollow and tried to communicate as subtly as she could how confused she was. Hollow nodded morosely. Well, at least she had Hollow on her side. Finally the Collector quieted down and Ghost tapped Hornet’s shoulder.

“Hmm?” Hornet reflexively looked down, but quickly corrected her movement with a mote of embarrassment. They still hadn’t come down from the table. It was a rare opportunity for them to look eye to eye, and Hornet gladly took it. The Collector cleared their throat.

“My Lord would like to humbly ask that you accompany them in their search for the missing bugs. They believe that your skills would be of great aid to them in this task.” Ghost’s head snapped sharply up to the Collector. Hornet was taken aback by the sudden fierceness Ghost displayed, far removed from their usual deadpan demeanor. The Collector bowed their head and continued, tacking on their last words as an afterthought:

“…But only if you feel like it. My Lord would not want to interrupt your busy schedule.” Ghost looked back to Hornet, seemingly satisfied with the Collector’s message. The Queen of Deepnest watched her sibling warily.

“Good King… You can speak to that thing?”

“That thing has a name, Queen of the Nest,” the Collector tittered. Hornet glared at the Collector, weaver venom in her eyes, and they backed off. Ghost nodded slowly once Hornet’s gaze had returned to them. Hornet slowly processed the implications of Ghost’s response.

“So, in theory, you could tell _the Collector_ what you want to say, and it could speak for you?”

“In theory? Queen of the Nest, we’ve already begun putting it into practice.” The Collector clasped their hands behind their back proudly. Hornet was floored. She could speak to Ghost _and they could speak back now?_ She quickly sat back down. It would not do to look flustered in front of her siblings and whatever relation the Collector was. She took a couple of deep breaths. _Calm down, Hornet. Don’t embarrass yourself in front of your siblings,_ she thought to herself.

“I see,” Hornet said at last. “I will keep that in mind in our future conversations.” If she couldn’t contain her excitement, she would distract herself instead.

_Quickly, Hornet! Change the subject!_ She thought to herself.

“If that is all, then we should be off. Time is of the essence when a bug is missing—and this is far more than a single bug we’re talking about, here.” Braving her possibly wobbly knees, Hornet stood back up.

“My Lord concurs,” announced the Collector. “Shall we take to the streets? The good Sentinels have already procured us some leads. Captain Blue has provided us with names, addresses, and areas we ought to search.” Hornet nodded.

“Let’s start with those, then.”

. . .

Hornet was helping them. _Hornet was helping them. _They should be happy. They’re getting to spend time with their sister. This was what Ghost wanted, wasn’t it? They wanted their sister to pay attention to them. They wanted to speak with her and walk with her and have things go back to the way they used to be. Indeed, it was even better than it had been before, because now they had Hollow with them as well—their estranged sibling, imprisoned for so long. They could even _speak_ to Hornet! Sure, it was through a surrogate, and the Collector took “creative liberties” with Ghost’s words, but still! This was leaps and bounds ahead of gestures and body language.

_So why wasn’t Ghost happy?_ Why did they feel anxious and awkward? This was the closest they had gotten to the way things used to be—exploring with Hornet. Yet, even now, their twisting and turning emotions waylaid them. Perhaps it was Hornet’s still-queenly facade. She refused to drop her regal demeanor even when they were alone, skirting through alleyways or walking down an empty street. She was all business now. But hadn’t Hornet always been serious? Even when she showed Ghost tenderness, she was always uptight. Yes, back then, Hornet was even _more_ distant—she hardly knew Ghost, of course. Could they blame her?

Perhaps their emotions were a sham. Perhaps Hornet’s prior affection towards them had spoiled them, leaving every interaction thereafter which failed to replicate such intimacy feeling hollow. Perhaps Ghost was deceiving themselves. Had they constructed a false image of Hornet in their mind, disguising who she truly was with the tinted lens of fondness? Had they been loving a lie? No, no—not at all. That was ludicrous. Hornet was sweet, and kind, and even doting when she wanted to be. But that side of her rarely came out, and her surface was always hard and businesslike.

But why? Why did she feel the need to be so serious all the time? What good would come of it? Respect? Clout? Ghost couldn’t see why Hornet of all bugs would need to project such a stiff persona to gain respect or be taken seriously. She could kill just about any given bug in Hallownest and every other kingdom. Wasn’t that reason enough to respect her? That was why Ghost thought so highly of her—not to mention she was a god as well. Hornet was smart enough to understand that, right? No, it couldn’t be that she needed to act royal to be respected as one.

Ghost kept walking along, keeping in pace with Hornet while Hollow and the Collector trailed behind them. When was the last time Hornet had looked down at them? Not even when she talked to them did she even spare so much as a glance down towards Ghost. When she talked, it was in that royal mode of speech as well—that high and lofty tone which alienated the common bugs. Ghost couldn’t stand it. They wished that Hornet would look down at them fondly and call them “sibling” instead of “King” and all those other small bits of affection Ghost would have gladly given to her. Instead, Hornet remained staring ahead, rivaling her siblings in a contest of silence.

_What a terrible feeling_, Ghost concluded, _to feel alone walking with family._

“Hm,” said the Collector all of a sudden. The other members of the party stopped to hear what they had to say. The Collector affixed Ghost with their gaze, as if they had something of deathly importance to say.

“It’s as I thought—this city...” The Collector paused for dramatic effect. “...It’s raining.”

“You’re kidding me,” Hornet thought aloud. The Collector shrugged.

“I’m just trying to lighten the mood. Some of us seem so morose.” Exasperated, Hornet didn’t bother expending the energy to quibble with them. She simply turned around and kept walking, and Ghost kept in pace with her.

“Mighty King,” Hornet whispered, leaning down and lowering her voice so that their traveling companions wouldn’t hear, “just where exactly did you find this creature?” Ghost pulled out their map and tapped a certain place. Hornet looked and saw a crude drawing of a massive cavern, complete with a large tower and what looked like some form of lake. Although she had never visited the place herself, she knew of it. She had heard the hushed and harried whispers between the Wyrm and his confidants, caught glimpses of strange documents, heard rumors perpetuated by historians of the ancient pre-Hallownest civilization.

“The Abyss,” Hornet said. Ghost confirmed her statement with a nod. Hornet wanted to reach out and cup the bottom of Ghost’s shell and ply them for answers to all her questions, but she refrained. They had a job to do. Her interest in her sibling’s nature would have to wait. Though, she couldn’t help but wonder… Just what else was her sibling capable of? She straightened up and kept walking.

“You continually surprise me, King of Hallownest.” Ghost watched her, and when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to look back at them, returned their eye sockets to the road ahead.

_**Sibling,**_ Hollow projected, nudging at Ghost’s mind. They opened up marginally to Hollow, indicating they were receptive to a conversation. Hollow continued,

_ **Not much progress. ** _ _ **Too much walking, not enough searching.** _

_Patience,_ Ghost soothed, _need to investigate. Better than being cooped up doing nothing._ Hollow begrudgingly agreed, though they still would much rather be out actually searching than questioning people. So far, all the bugs they had spoken to had given roughly the same answers. One day, the missing bug had gone off to work, run an errand, or do some other task, and they had never come back. They _did _discover a pattern the Sentinels had missed, however. Although they had tried to classify the disappearances based on what type of job the bug had, they hadn’t considered the implications of the bug’s job. Of all the bugs the four of them had questioned thus far, many of them had occupations which required them to routinely leave the city. However, jobs alone didn’t account for the entire population of missing bugs—but thanks to the Collector and Hornet, Ghost and co were able to dig further. The missing bugs who _didn’t_ regularly travel outside the city had gone missing only after they had set off to depart the city for one reason or another.

Upon questioning the Sentinels stationed at the city’s entrances on the dates of the bugs’ disappearance, about half of the missing bugs never passed through the gates. Furthermore, if they did pass through, they always returned unharmed, as if nothing were amiss.

It was clear then that whatever was causing the disappearances, it must have been within the City of Tears, and it was targeting bugs leaving the city.

“We have no idea where whatever creature this is is going to strike next. We need to have the citizens compress together, travel in groups. We need to place Sentinels at every entrance to the city and double—no, _triple_ the amount of patrols. Every citizen intending to leave the city must do so with an escort. We’ll need to have a collection of Sentinels on standby for that, but if they travel in groups it shouldn’t be too bad. I can start escorting my weaver students too, so that’s already a large load off your back. The rest of the Sentinels need to scour this city for any trace of the missing bugs. No stone left unturned. Why are you all looking at me like that?” They were back in Ghost’s throne room, and the aforementioned King, Hollow, and the Collector were staring at her with various degrees of surprise.

“What?”

“With all due respect Queen Hornet,” the Collector began, “this is hardly your kingdom. You can’t just waltz in here and start ordering all of us around. You’re stepping over _quite a few _boundaries right now, and I would advise you to speak more carefully—starting immediately.” For a moment, Hornet was utterly shocked. She was so shocked that she didn’t even retort. All she did was stare blankly. Did that creature _really_ just call her out like that? It seemed that the Collector took her silence for acceptance, because they turned to Ghost.

“My lord, what would you like to do?” Hornet sputtered. She wasn’t going to be stepped over that easily!

“Hold on a moment—”

“_Queen Hornet_,” the Collector interrupted with unexpected force. “All this time you have been nothing but trouble. First, you arrive uninvited at the doors to the royal palace and expect to be admitted, having given no prior notice of your visit. You quarrel with the guards like an entitled child, and immediately begin making demands of our King as soon as they arrive!”

“Now see here—”

“_Iwasn’tfinished!_” The Collector shouted shrilly. “Throughout your entire visit, the King has had to endure your passive-aggressive jabs at me, as if somehow your inexplicable distaste for me rendered me some kind of sub-bug inferior! I may be Void and I may be jolly, but I do not have limitless patience! Are you so self-centered as to belittle the work of my lord, who went through great pains and suffering to drag me out of the Sea? Do not disrespect my lord in such a manner! I don’t care what feelings you have towards me, what revulsion or distaste—it bothers me not! _Yet!_ I cannot abide your brazen disrespect for my lord, my King, in their very own kingdom!

“You come into _this_ kingdom, the kingdom of _Hallownest_, ruled by another sovereign monarch, and act as if you yourself were the ruler! What rights do you have to order around my lord? Who gave you permission to make decisions about their Sentinels? Their citizens? Do you believe my lord an incompetent? Do you believe that they do not possess the aptitude to lead effectively? Is that why you feel the need to take the lead on every decision which should rightfully fall to them, or question their decisions like bringing me out of the Sea? Or perhaps, is it that insatiable desire to take matters into one’s own hands? While I too feel the unquenchable pull to protect, to _jar_, I acquiesce to my lord’s desires! I know my place! Do you know yours? _Evidently not!_”

Hornet felt the heat as her face burned. She felt the wetness creeping into her eyes.

_Know your place._ The phrase repeated itself in her head, again and again. It was a mantra—a precept which she had discarded long ago.

“Know your place,” he had said.

_ A broken vase, a disapproving glance_ _—_ _a toy nail, discarded. The soft shuffling of alabaster robes that dragged far too long as they moved down the hall._

“That was not my intention—”

_A chamber gone silent. All eyes on her. A word or phrase hanging in the air, echoing in the large, vaulted ceiling. Shrinking back, trying to find comfort in her father’s embrace. It never came. She was only trying to help_—_she just wanted to help._

“And yet.”

_A red cloak billowing behind her, her legs carrying her away from the palace she _ _once mistakenly _ _called home. A needle_ _—_ _a birthright_ _—_ _a gift from her mother, held loosely in her grip. She would need it for the road ahead. Evading the Kingsmoulds wasn’t easy, and she knew the whole kingdom would be looking for her soon. _ _Perhaps to _ _Kingdom’s Edge? Yes, that would work._

_ “I know my place, Wyrm_—_and it damn well isn’t here,” she hissed to herself, the hot tears burning their way down her face._

Defeated, Hornet slumped back in her chair. Smugly, the Collector crossed their arms and scoffed.

“Now that that’s taken care of, my lord—” the Collector’s yelps of surprise were muffled by Hollow’s massive hand reaching out and grabbing their face. They struggled; they squirmed, trying to escape. They tried to pry off Hollow’s hand, but the knight’s grip was like a vice. The empty god’s massive steps echoed in Ghost’s throne room as they stalked towards the nearest window. They ignored the Collector’s pleas. They ignored their cries. They even ignored Ghost’s rapid and insistent attempts to access their mind.

_Nobody hurts their little sister._

_**BEGONE, **_they boomed.

With a mighty heave, the Hollow Knight flung the Collector through a window. The sound of glass shattering split the air as the Collector’s cries got quieter and quieter. Fragments of the broken window rained down on the street below, and a passing pair of bugs scrambled for cover. Finally, with a satisfying _thud_, the Collector hit the ground. Void splattered everywhere, but the Collector did not die. They laid there, twitching, in a puddle of their own body, and Hollow felt no remorse. As soon as they saw the Collector was still alive, Hollow teleported over to Hornet and brought her into a tight embrace, clacking their mask against hers.

Ghost remained there as Hollow tried desperately to console Hornet, still processing what just happened. It had all gone so _quickly_. Should they have stopped the Collector? Should they have stopped Hollow? The Collector had voiced some legitimate concerns Ghost had. It was true that they wished to make decisions about their own kingdom. It was true they were slightly upset towards Hornet. But the Collector took things much too far. They didn’t need to be that harsh. They didn’t need to be so blunt.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ Ghost trembled in their seat as their shade raged against itself. They cradled their shell in their hands and leaned forward, screaming out their silent suffering with the voice they didn’t have.

Meanwhile, Hornet gently shrugged off Hollow’s arm. The older knight looked deep into Hornet’s eyes, but she turned away from their gaze. Slowly, Hornet stood up and began walking to the window.

“Sibling, I apologize for overstepping my bounds,” she choked out. “I will have more discretion in the future.” Before Hollow could stop her, she had leaped out and zipped away with her needle and thread. Hollow watched her go, their hand outstretched. Only after she disappeared from view did they shakily retract their hand and make their way back to Ghost. Their little lord’s emotions were a whirlwind, cascading over Hollow. Anger. Shame. Sadness. Regret. Hollow knew them all well. The old vessel gingerly sat down next to their sibling and pulled them, quivering, into their lap.

_Everything __is falling apart_, Ghost whimpered, black globs of oily tears dripping down their shell, staining it with black streaks underneath their eye sockets. The tears struck Hollow’s leg and the floor, and Hollow only pulled Ghost closer. They, too, were angry—but they didn’t have the time to be angry right now. Right now, their sibling didn’t need an angry god, but a supportive older sibling. So, like they always had, Hollow buried their emotions deep down and held Ghost tightly. They couldn’t allow their own feelings to get in the way of their duty. Back then, it was to save Hallownest. Now? It was to protect their family—and Hollow wouldn’t let _anything_ hurt their family. For their family’s sake, they would sacrifice everything… Even themselves and their own well-being, if they had to.

No cost too great.

Not for the ones they loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! I was worried I wasn't going to get this one out until the new year, but here we are!
> 
> Between studying for finals (WHEEZE) and doing all the normal holiday time stuff, it's been a challenge making room for this little fic, but I've managed to get it done! Thank you all for your patience.
> 
> Got to write from the perspective of Hornet this time around, which was a breath of fresh air. It's so nice having characters that can actually hold a conversation (and not in vessel-speak), ha-ha!
> 
> Anyway, since it IS the holiday season, please allow me to wish you the happiest of holidays, whatever you celebrate. Your continued support has honestly been so incredibly heartwarming and encouraging. Seriously, thank you for that. 
> 
> As always, stay tuned for more (but I'm definitely not getting anything out until the semester starts back up again lmao)


	5. The Sins of the Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the actions of the few reverberate through the many, and a vessel realizes that there's more to life than duty.

Hornet stormed into the sepulcher, startling the weaver as they payed their respects to the stone slab which once held Herrah the Beast. The room was dark, as befitted a memorial, lit only by a small pile of candles and sticks of incense at the base of the plinth.

“Out,” ordered the half-breed, her serious demeanor bubbling underneath with a typhoon of emotion. The weaver quickly bowed to their queen and scurried out, locking the door behind them. With a deceptive calmness, Hornet took her needle and thread and laid it off to the side. She carefully unwound the thread from around her needle and wound it back around her spool. Then she tromped over to the empty grave of her mother and fell to her knees, the thoroughly soaked fabric of her cloak making a wet schlop as it impacted the ground. Hornet folded her arms over each other on the still eerily warm stone surface and buried her mask into them.

Then she screamed,

and screamed,

and screamed—

until her lungs gave out.

Once she was done, Hornet stood up, retrieved her armaments, and strode out without looking back. It was time to be a queen again.

. . .

Ghost signed the last piece of legislation, pressing their ink-drenched nail firmly into the scroll so that all the grooves and contours were accounted for. Like a fingerprint, the nail of each warrior was distinct, constantly evolving. Each bore the history of its battles until it was sharpened anew. Every swing that struck true, every time the metal sang as it bit into the flesh of its enemies—they all left their mark. Aside from that, many nails were forged uniquely, made to order by pompous nobles seeking to show their status with an ornate nail.

Ghost’s nail was not of that type. Rather, its uniqueness was due to its superlative construction from impeccable material. The many times the Nailsmith had forged and reforged their blade, each time infusing more strength into the weapon, had resulted in a creation so artistic, so beyond anything which had yet been brought into being, that it was utterly unlike any other nail currently in existence. Not even Hollow’s nail, as flawless as it was, could compare. It was only natural that the Nailsmith made the choice he did once his work was complete. Ghost did not begrudge him that, though they did wish for a proper nailsmith now—one day the Sentinels would need more than old and dented nails.

Ghost supposed they and their blade were alike in that manner. Once, they were mundane, old, and falling apart. Ghost was as worn-down as their nail. Now, after the zenith of their journey had come and gone, the two of them were perhaps the strongest of their ilk in Hallownest—nail and god respectively. That was what Ghost meditated on as they meticulously cared for their nail. After thoroughly wiping off the remaining ink, Ghost rubbed down the nail in lacquer, taking care to eliminate any trace of smudges, before wiping it dry once more. Then they produced some oil and began to carefully polish the weapon.

The pure nail did not, strictly speaking, _need_ to be cared for in such a stringent manner. The powerful magic of the pale ore and the additional enchantments the Nailsmith had worked into the metal through its intricate runes and coils ensured that it would stay strong, sharp, and splendid for ages, if Hollow’s nail was any indication. Then again, that could have just been due to the stasis. Ghost doubted it, though. They felt a certain power from this nail that others did not express. It was probably the pale ore.

Hollow stood guard next to Ghost, as tall and statuesque as ever. It was almost comical, seeing such a diminutive figure standing in a similarly tiny chair next to the tallest living bug in Hallownest. Ghost hadn’t questioned why Hollow adopted a more protective demeanor. Technically speaking, Hollow _shouldn’t_ have, since Ghost had specified earlier on that they didn’t want Hollow to keep up appearances when they were alone. They were siblings. Yet, Ghost couldn’t bring themselves to reprimand Hollow. Their sibling had already endured so much—what would they be if they added to the pile of woes Hollow had accrued over their life?

Besides, maybe Ghost_ wanted_ to be protected this time around. Maybe they wanted Hollow to scoop them up and hug them tightly and tell them it was going to be okay, even as their worst fears began to come to pass and—and—and—

“My lord?” The Collector was there. When had they entered? The door was open. They must not have heard it. The newly un-puddled (but still runny) Void creature had their hands clasped in front of their thorax in a submissive gesture, keeping a respectful distance from their King. Ghost gestured for them to continue, momentarily stopping their nail-care ritual.

“That was the final piece of legislation which you called for. Once it is disseminated to the populace, the suggestions Queen Hornet made will go into effect.”

_Good,_ Ghost said. It _was_ good. Hornet had some good ideas. She tended to do so.

“Do you need anything else, my lord?”

_No. Leave whenever,_ Ghost replied, returning to their ritual. The Collector bowed and backpedaled out of the room, the doors slamming shut as they made their exit. Once they did, Ghost sunk deep into their chair and released the smallest hint of a sigh. Hollow was instantly kneeling by their side, prodding Ghost’s mind with inquisitive intent. Ghost mentally brushed them off and sat up straight again, sending back waves of reassurance to assuage their protective sibling. Hollow would not be denied however, and firmly stood their ground amid Ghost’s attempts to dissuade them from pressing the issue. Ghost at last relented.

_Tired,_ they said. Hollow churred and bent down to brush the edge of their mask against Ghost’s.

**_Then sleep._** Ghost pondered the suggestion. Perhaps it was not so bad of an idea. To say the day had been stressful was an understatement. Ghost had buried themselves into the work of keeping the city safe to keep their mind off of the rift that had opened up between Hornet and them. They hadn’t slept since their split. In a way, it almost reminded them of when they were back on their quest, journeying all around Hallownest, pausing only for momentary breathers at benches to change their charms and patch their wounds with Soul. The past few days had been a whirlwind of meetings, drafting resolutions, and searching high and low for any sign of the mysterious whatever-it-was that kept disappearing their citizens. Yes, sleep would be good. Indeed, come to think of it… Ghost’s mind wandered to the dream nail.

_Watch outside?_ Hollow nodded. Their concerns addressed, the knight tromped out without complaint or second-guesses. As the door slammed behind their sibling, Ghost pulled out the dream nail. Would this work? They hoped it would. They also hoped Hollow didn’t come back in for a while, because that would certainly lead to an awkward misunderstanding. As if sensing its wielder’s intent, the dream nail ignited in Ghost’s hands, its bright fuchsia aura illuminating their shell and bathing the area around them in a soft pink light. Without hesitation, Ghost turned the nail downwards and gripped it in both hands. They raised it up and in one fluid motion, swiftly stabbed it downwards into the center of their thorax.

Then everything went white.

. . .

The Collector stepped up to Hollow.

“I assume I won’t be allowed entry?” As they expected, Hollow did not answer. They just stood there with their nail held over their thorax, the tip just barely hovering over the ground. The Collector tried to glance past them on the off chance that the door was left ajar, but of course, Hollow would tolerate no such sloppiness. Seeing that their efforts were thwarted, the Collector instead opted to lean on the wall a respectable distance away from Hollow.

“You know, you aren’t the only one who can lay claim to protecting them. They’re my lord too.” Silence. Hollow’s mind was an iron fortress—one which the Collector had no power to penetrate. They had to stand there with the Silent God’s facade of emptiness filling their mind, turning it into an echo chamber where emotion went to die.

...Wait, were _they_ doing this? Was Hollow really trying to repulse the Collector by sharing their imitation of emptiness? The Collector snorted with their nonexistent nose.

“If you’re looking for an apology, you won’t be getting one. My most precious lord comes first. You of all people should know.” That too failed to get a rise. The Collector decided not to press the issue. They giggled instead.

“What a strange god you are, Lordkin. I wish I had a jar big enough to fit you. You would do excellently, especially with your skill in statue imitation. Have you considered a career in it? I think you could give that bug in the courtyard a run for their money—you know, the one in the fountain.” Not a whit of amusement emanated from Hollow. They remained as still and stoic as ever. The Collector rolled their eyes.

“Well, _I_ thought it was funny.”

. . .

“Ah, Godslayer. You’ve returned.” There he was, as glowey as he was when Ghost had visited last. The Pale King stood before Ghost in his usual manner, with his too-large cloak thrown tightly over his diminutive form. Ghost nodded. They were back in the same space as before: the metal platform suspended midair above the grey clouds, the perfect circle of Void far off in the distance, with but a single mote of light that was the Radiance in the center.

“Have you come to visit, or do you seek counsel?” Ghost dipped their head towards the ground. Should they tell the Wyrm of what had transpired? The Pale King chuckled.

“Counsel it is, then. I can see it written on your face.” Ghost looked up and tilted their head ever so slightly to the side. The Pale King sighed. Internally, Ghost allowed themselves a smidgen of amusement. Giving their father a hard time was the least they could do to pay him back, after the buzzsaws… and the whole leaving them for dead in a grave made of their siblings’ bodies thing.

“A figure of speech, vessel. Come—let us walk.” The Wyrm turned around in a single smooth motion and set off in that direction. Ghost followed, keeping pace with the Pale King. As they walked, the platform they were on stretched to accommodate, becoming more of a long, metallic walkway.

“Tell me what troubles you.” Ghost didn’t answer at first. How best to explain it?

_“Sibling, I apologize for overstepping my bounds.”_ Hornet?! Ghost whirled around and saw their memories in one of the clouds. It was of that day. The Pale King also paused, observing in silence as the memory played itself out. As Hornet disappeared into the distance, the cloud faded back into its usual grey hue.

“I see.” The Pale King broke the silence. “She was always an… agitator, to say the least. She has a way of getting under your skin. I’m not surprised.” Ghost didn’t respond. They stared down, their shade curling and twisting as their mind churned and churned. The clouds trembled and the sky darkened, only to abate moments later. The Pale King watched all this and made a note of it.

“What strong emotions,” he whispered to himself. “The magnitude of my failure continues to manifest itself to me.” Then, looking back to Ghost, he tentatively reached out his hand—only to retract it once more. He cleared his throat instead. Ghost turned to face them.

“Would you like to continue?” Asked the Wyrm. Ghost paused, then nodded slowly.

“Very well then—let us persist in our current course. If this becomes a pattern, I should understand your predicament soon enough.” And so they walked. They passed the time in relative silence. Memories came and went frequently, and Ghost pointed out which ones were important. The only time they broke the silence was when the Pale King would ask a clarifying question or say something to himself that Ghost didn’t catch. As the final memory faded, Ghost looked up to the Pale King.

“Was that the last one?” Nod. The Pale King warbled in a low voice as he thought, his hand resting on his chin.

“Have you considered—no, actually. That wouldn’t work… It’s _probably_ not an infection…” Several minutes passed as the Wyrm turned things over in his head. This was quite the conundrum. Most of his experience dealing with disasters like these was, obviously, from attempting to control the Infection. This new monarch had not even a fraction of the resources he had had during his reign. Hmm… How would he handle this situation if he was in charge?

“You already put into effect the changes my daughter suggested?” Ghost nodded. “And you think whatever it is that’s taking bugs is inside the city?” Another affirmative answer. “Then… There is _one_ suggestion I’ll make. If it goes well, it should lead you right to the source of whatever is causing this.” The Pale King leaned down, closer to Ghost.

“Live bait.”

. . .

Blue rapped three times in quick succession on the door to Yvera’s house, deftly balancing the parcel they were holding in their other hand.

“Just a second!” Laia’s voice was muffled by the door. Blue waited patiently until the door creaked open to reveal the juvenile bug. She made an exclamation of surprise and delight and quickly threw open the door the rest of the way.

“Momma! It’s Captain Blue!” She shouted. Then, without waiting for a response, she took Blue by the hand and led them inside. The little house was as cramped as ever. Indeed, it was even more cramped than usual, owing to the mess which had accumulated. Stepping over several of Laia’s haphazardly strewn about toys, Blue followed Laia through the living room and into another doorway which led to a small, but cozy, bedroom. On the bed rested Yvera, bundled up in multiple blankets and half-asleep, a wet rag resting on the upper part of her mask. However, when the pair entered, she perked up.

“Oh,” murmured Yvera, “is that my daughter and the Captain?”

“Yeah! Captain Blue’s brought something!” Yvera sat up, the bed creaking and blankets rustling.

“Hmm? And what might that be?” Blue unwrapped the parcel, and the leaves and twine fell away to reveal a large wooden pot. Yvera looked at it quizzically before Blue pulled off the top, revealing a steaming soup. The pleasant aroma of the liquid wafted up and saturated the bedroom with the scent of a fresh meal.

“Oh… is that for us?” Blue nodded. Laia gasped.

“I wanna have some right now!” Laia yelled, dashing off towards the kitchen.

“Child, please be careful! And keep it down!” Yvera sighed. “I don’t know what to do with her sometimes…” Blue did not make any sign indicating their thoughts one way or another. Yvera groaned and prodded the cold compress on her mask. It had gone dry. She huffed in annoyance.

“What a bother…” Blue carefully set down the pot and plucked the compress off of her face. The motherly bug groaned and covered her eyes.

“Captain, what are you doing?” She asked, knowing it was futile. She heard Blue quickly shuffle out and the distant clatter of wooden bowls from the other room. Laia’s distant voice rang out throughout the small house, but Yvera couldn’t make out the words. Soon, a pair of smaller, quicker footfalls accompanied by somehow quieter, measured steps indicated that the pair had returned.

“Momma, take your arms off your mask,” Laia said. Yvera complied, and Blue laid a newly wetted rag on her mask. Yvera sighed in relief as the cool rag soothed her burning mask.

In truth, Yvera felt worse from the guilt of having to lay in bed and leaving so many chores to Laia. She knew the girl couldn’t take care of herself, but she just didn’t have the strength to keep up with housework as usual. Blue was a godsend, in that regard. Somehow, the dutiful captain always managed to find some space in their day to stop by and help out around the house. At first, she wouldn’t stop thanking them, but Blue always insisted that she didn’t need to. At least, that’s what she thought they were trying to communicate.

Wooden plates and utensils clacked together as Blue cleared her nightstand of leftover plates from previous meals and replaced it with a steaming bowl of soup. As the captain carried the cutlery back to the kitchen, Laia took it upon herself to feed her mother.

“Open wide, Momma,” she crooned. Yvera sighed.

“You know, I can feed myself, dear,” she said.

“Nuh-uh. I wanna do it,” Laia insisted. Her mother bit back a groan and assented to the child’s babying.

Meanwhile, Captain Blue was busy tidying up the rest of the house. Toys needed to be put back into their proper spots, dishes needed to be washed, furniture dusted… Yes, they had their work cut out for them. Blue didn’t mind, though. The monotony of domestic upkeep was a welcome diversion from the endless patrols in the pouring rain where nothing ever happened. Here, at least, they felt like they were _doing_ something—making actual progress. The investigation of the mysterious disappearances was advancing at a snail’s pace. Here, they could see the fruits of their labor as soon as it was complete. The defense of the city was their passion and purpose, true, but this? This was what really gave them joy. It was their duty to protect the citizens of Hallownest, after all. What was wrong with taking a particular liking to some?

After a time, the living room was tidied up and Blue had set the scrubbed-down dishes out to dry. Now they needed to wash the dirty sheets. Yvera, energized from the soup, had decided to come out to the living room and watch Laia as she pulled all of her neatly put away toys out of her toy box and proceeded to get them all over the place… again. Blue watched Laia destroy the order they had toiled to create with mute despondence. Yet, they just couldn’t be annoyed with the little bug. Children were strange and charismatic creatures indeed.  
Blue gathered up the sheets, almost burying themselves underneath the big bundle, and began to carry them into the laundry room.

“Ah, Captain Blue—you needn’t do that. I can handle it myself. I don’t want you getting sick either.” Blue tactfully ignored the female bug’s words and scooted into the laundry room, whereupon they set to work washing the sheets. Yvera sighed and leaned back in her seat  
“I am powerless in my own home,” she bemoaned half-seriously.

. . .

As they stood guard, Hollow felt their mind begin to wander in the same way it had when they had stood guard for their father. Without the presence of Ghost’s mind to keep theirs occupied, Hollow’s thoughts felt rather empty. True, that was what they were _supposed_ to feel, but the idea of them having the capacity to understand that they were empty already went contrary to the wishes of the Pale King. Normally, the only time that Ghost’s presence faded from their mind was when the two went to sleep, but usually Hollow fell asleep not too long after Ghost, so they didn’t have the time to actually think.

Back before, whenever they caught themselves daydreaming or having other meaningless mental fancies, they would reprimand themselves and force their mind to be still. “Do not think,” they would tell themselves. “Do not feel.” And so it was in this way that they had carried themselves: caged under the weight of their father’s expectations and their own will. That, of course, had been unable to stop them—it never had. Their failure in the Black Egg Temple only proved it.

_Defective._ That was the word their father would have used. It was the word he had used whenever he spoke of…

No, no. They wouldn’t go there. Summoning some of their old prejudice, Hollow forced down that train of thought. And then they were back at square one: hyper-aware of their own mental activity. They tested out words and feelings in their mind, saying things to themselves. It was strange to think of words and feelings in a vacuum, without someone to whom they might project them. Was this how normal bugs thought? What an odd way to live, Hollow concluded. If they had to listen to themselves think all the time, they would go crazy. Perhaps Ghost’s constant presence in their mind was a blessing in disguise, then.

Returning to their failure, Hollow thought of what might have happened had Ghost not defeated the Radiance. Their sibling had still never told them exactly _what_ had transpired that day, only that they had done what was necessary. Still, Hollow remembered the moment the Old Light vanished from their mind like a weed being torn from the soil—the pain as she dug herself in, trying desperately to keep herself rooted in their mind, before inevitably fading away.

It wasn’t the only thing they remembered from that day, though. However, this memory was more of an echo of a feeling than the constant fever dream of the Radiance’s presence in their mind. The feeling reminded them of the days before they were sealed in the Temple—when they were strong, swift, and their training as fresh in the mind as a cut from a recently-killed maskfly. It reminded them of their devotion to their father, and how it felt to be empty. When compared to the heat and the light of the Radiance’s constant pressing-in on their mind, it was like a single drop of ice-cold water dripping down onto their mask. They had held onto that memory, that feeling. It was what gave them clarity as the Radiance tore their mind to shreds trying to save hers.

Without moving, Hollow imagined moving their arm—their other arm. They remembered back to the time when a mere flex of the fingers or a sharp thought might conjure pale, ethereal nails midair. With a gesture, they might have sent these nails into ten other bugs. They could almost feel the chill that crept into their arm every time they tapped into soul magic, the way the energy bled away in thin wisps of pale energy, like split silk peeling away from a loom.

Their stump ached.

They had not attempted to cast magic since they had been sealed away. They hadn’t even tried to focus. Sure, they had trained their swordsmanship with Mato when Ghost took them to visit, and Hollow had discovered that while their arm had rotted off, their skill had not. Yet, the nailmaster was not skilled in the art of magic, and their sparring matches had not escalated beyond pure nail-play. Mato was particularly interested in Hollow’s unorthodox style, holding their nail in a backwards grip. Really, it was less of a style and more of a concession. Hollow had been trained in all the traditional nailfighting styles by Dryya and Ze’mer, but Hollow’s size made it so that they were ineffectual against most potential opponents. The old nailmasters, it seemed, did not consider the idea that an unnaturally tall bug might ever need to cross nails with a much smaller bug. As Hollow considered it, they realized that their nailfighting style might have been their downfall: it was an innovation, something they were _definitely_ not supposed to be able to do. Perhaps Ze'mer or Dryya had suggested it to them in the first place? They didn't remember. Regardless, it just seemed logical to them—if the traditional styles wouldn’t work, why not just stab down at the bugs from above? So that was what Hollow did.

Their magic was different, though. _That,_ the Pale King had taught them. It was one of the few things necessary to their development only their father could supply.

_“To Focus, you must be in a state of inner calm. This will not be an issue for you. To Focus is not to will, for you have no will. It is not to think and decide, for you have no mind. To Focus is to transition from one state of existence to another, to be injured one moment, and the next, to be healed. It is not brought about by a decision on your part, or a movement of the will. It is less complex than that, which is why you will be able to perform it.” The Pale King paced around them as he talked, as he was wont to do. They were in his throne room, closed off to visitors, and they were alone. The King did not even have his Kingsmoulds with him. Beams of light from the imperfectly closed curtains shined into the room, illuminating patches of floor. The King had even dimmed his glow down to a soft and gentle aura, so as not to ruin the darkness._

_The Pure Vessel stood still, taking in his every word, staring straight ahead. They understood as far as the empty mind they allowed themselves would permit. The King said it wasn’t complex, after all. How hard could it be? They felt their body. They felt the exhaustion and soreness from the training they had just completed. They reached deep inside themselves, searching for renewal…_ And as they Focused, and the wisps of energy coalesced around them, and the stump of their arm began to glow—

They saw Her again.

For the first time in their life, Hollow broke their posture while on duty. They flinched back and crashed against the door, their chest heaving for breath. They clutched their nail so hard their hand ached. Their stump burned. For a moment, their mask seemed heavy with the haze of Her light. Their shell felt warm and their crack felt as if someone was pulling it apart from the inside. Was it hot in here or was it just them? The world spun. They whirled their gaze from left to right, searching. Was it really Her? Was she here? No. She wasn’t. It was just them. They were alone. Yet, the vision of her eyes, her face, burned into their memory from the ages of torment—it didn’t fade. It stuck in their mind like a hot iron forced into the crack in their shell.

They thought they were done with this. They thought they were done with _Her_.

The black tears welled up in their eye sockets, and they shook their mask. They were on duty. They were guarding Ghost. This was not the time nor place to consider such things. They were the Pure Vessel—they were better than this! Just remain calm.

_No mind to think._

They just needed to breathe.

_ **Do not think.** _

It was fine.

** _Do not feel._ **

They were fine.

** _Do not…_ **

Just fine.

**. . .**

Fine.

. . .

Ghost stormed out of their throne room with a bang, the doors flying open. They were clearly agitated. Hollow immediately asked why. Ghost did not answer. Instead they paced back and forth, their mind abuzz. It flew so quickly Hollow felt lost. For a moment, Ghost’s divinity shone through as their mind expanded and contracted with possibilities, calculations, and option-weighing. Hollow had no choice but to watch and wait. Finally, the little king stopped, turned on their heel, and began descending the tower. Hollow followed with concern.

Once they had progressed down several flights of stairs, Ghost took a side passage which led to the makeshift judicial department of the tower. Hollow had to hunch down to fit, and even then, their horns still tapped against the ceiling of the roof when they walked. It was a slow day, like always, but inside each office there were appointed judges familiarizing themselves with the new legislation which had come down with the intention of preventing further disappearances. No doubt some would find the restrictions absurd, others a relief, and they would bicker about it until Ghost stepped in to make them stop.

At the end of the hallway stood a door. Hollow knew what was inside that door and they were not looking forward to the meeting they would have to endure. As Ghost approached, the door swung open of its own accord.

“Why hello-o-o there, my lord. What brings you here today?” Asked the Collector, their usual gaiety returning. Ghost quickly sent them a mental query.

“Hmm?” The Collector tilted their head. “No, we do not. The only crimes worthy of imprisonment are relatively minor, such as theft or the occasional assault, and we have given those convicted the far more useful sentence of community service, rather than jail time. We have none which have committed crimes worthy of capital punishment—or would have been, had you not abolished it. Why do you ask?” Ghost waved their hand dismissively and turned on their heel to walk out.

_No reason,_ they lied. They could tell, even though the Collector hid it well, that the jolly god did not believe them for a second. But what could the Collector do about it? Nothing; that was the answer. And so, without a further word, Ghost strode right back out.

It was strange to think of how easily lying came to them now, especially to those they cared about. Was this a side effect of kingship? Did their father learn to lie like this? Did he stop caring like Ghost? Or was he always capable of deceit? Ghost’s pace slowed as they thought. They had told themselves that they wouldn’t become like their father, yet here they were—a liar, ready to risk the life of a citizen! No more death, they had said; no more needless death. They would no longer have a hand in the needless destruction of life. They had killed and seen killed far too many bugs already.

But it was for the greater good, no? Was the life of one bug really worth that much? And how many more lives could be saved if one was sacrificed? That was what Father thought, they knew. Was there another option? No, there could be no questioning it—there _had_ to be another option. If there wasn’t, they would have no choice but to become a hypocrite and a traitor to themselves. There could be no compromise; there could be no concession. It was absolutely imperative that they find a way to defeat this menace and solve this mystery without further endangering the good bugs of Hallownest. It was more than an imperative—it was an _obligation_, a _necessity_. They could not allow themselves to become like their father. The graves of their siblings stood as a testament to why.

. . .

Blue was hurrying down the street to Yvera’s house when they encountered a large group of bugs, about twenty-six or so, trotting down the street with wagons of tarp-covered belongings. The Captain slowed as they passed, all marching ahead with mute determination (and not a little apprehension). Wherever they were going, it was either somewhere the stag could not carry them, or the weight of their possessions was such that the stag would not be _able_ to carry them. In the golden age of Hallownest, a bug could easily have found a hearty stag ready to carry them and all of their knick-knacks wherever they desired. However, the Old Stag was not so strong in his advanced age, and was not able to bear large amounts of weight like he used to (much to his chagrin and shame).

Blue did not linger long—in the past few days, the King had ordered double duty for all Sentinels, so they had not been able to visit Yvera. It seemed the search was ramping up, due to the lack of results. Sharp’s theorizing had started mutterings among the Sentinels of new emergency legislation that would increase their jurisdiction. Thankfully, in the recent days, the rate of disappearances was dropping dramatically. It seemed the increased patrols and restrictions on citizen movement were doing their jobs. The group of bugs slowly faded into the blue haze of the city’s ever-present mist and Blue went their way.

Rounding the corner, Blue trotted up to Yvera’s house and knocked. It took several seconds for an answer, but soon they heard the unmistakable thumping of Laia bounding to the door. With a small gust of air pressure and mist, Laia swung the door open and greeted Blue, beaming.

“Hello, Captain Blue!” Blue waved, balancing their parcel carefully in the crook of their arm. Laia stepped out of the doorway so the Sentinel could enter, and they did so.

“Where’ve you been?” The child asked as Blue dried off their feet. Blue used a hand to mime out walking. Laia giggled.

“No, I mean _before_ you came here!” Blue stared back at her. There wasn’t exactly an easy way to convey that they were patrolling around the city in search of the missing bugs or the cause behind their disappearance.

“They mean they were on patrol, dear,” Yvera piped up from the couch. Blue’s gaze fell on her with what Yvera swore seemed to be surprise. Although she still looked pale and frail, she nevertheless sat there in much less discomfort than the previous days. She figured she might as well give an explanation—

“I’m feeling much better today, so I decided to come out here and wait for you. You’ve really come at a great time, what with…” She trailed off as she finished, looking away, back towards the window. Blue thought nothing of it and moved to place their parcel on the kitchen table. Laia excitedly followed them, hopping up on a chair to get a better look as they unwrapped it.

“Oooh, tasty!” Blue nodded. It was a hearty meal of grits with strips of maskfly meat. They had worried that it might be too difficult for Yvera to eat, but seeing her now in a much better state than before, they were glad they took the risk. Laia excitedly grabbed some bowls and began setting the table, Yvera got up and started shuffling over, and Blue began distributing the food.

“Make sure to leave some left over in case Papa comes back,” Laia said to Blue. They wordlessly obeyed, leaving about half the container full. Yvera took her seat and looked to Blue curiously, who had not served themselves.

“Will you not have something?” The mother asked. Blue shook their head, then patted their gut. They had already eaten.

“Well, please sit with us regardless. We love the company. No-one comes around these days,” Yvera said, her tone taking on a mote of malcontent at the end. Blue tilted their head. Yvera held up a hand.

“It’s nothing, Captain.” Blue didn’t believe her, and Laia didn’t either—only Laia was more vocal about it.

“Momma, what’s wrong?” Yvera sighed.

“Don’t worry yourself, child. Eat your supper.” Laia pouted, but dug in regardless. Blue, however, would not be dissuaded so easily. They shifted so that more of their body was facing Yvera and inclined themselves ever so slightly towards the bug. Yvera held their gaze for a moment before letting hers fall.

“It’s just these new regulations, Captain. We’re just getting a little tired of being cooped up in here, is all. And it’s hard to go shopping when you can’t go out by yourself. And… well, let’s just say people still aren’t too fond of illness of any kind.”

“It’s _boring_! I can’t go outside and play,” Laia complained. Blue wasn’t sure what to do. How could they say, “you’ll just have to tough it out; it’s for your own good” to them? Sometimes, they _really_ couldn’t stand not being able to speak.

“Of course, we’re not blaming you, Captain. We know you’re probably doing everything you can to get things back to normal.” Blue nodded. _That_ they could answer. Yvera smiled.

“I’m glad to hear it. Do we have any idea of how long this is going to last for?” And that was the question Blue didn’t want to be asked. The Sentinel Captain bobbed their head from side to side, thinking. The best they could come up with was to shrug and widen their arms in front of them, to try and indicate that it would take a long time. Yvera took a moment to process it. Tentatively, she asked,

“You don’t know, but you think it’s going to take a while?” Nod, nod. Laia groaned audibly. Yvera gave her a stern glance, and Laia mumbled an apology and went back to her grits.

“Don’t mind her,” Yvera said apologetically. “Are things going well with you?” Blue nodded on instinct. The vessels had emotions, just not _strong_ ones, generally. Blue didn’t have any complaints, at least. Yvera smiled.

“That’s good to hear.” Blue nodded again. Bugs seemed to find them agreeable when they nodded along with what they were saying, and Yvera was no different.

“Anything interesting happen lately?” Blue nodded. Yvera and Laia shifted in their seats to get a better look at Blue. They knew the Captain was about to try and tell them what it was. Walking—that was easy; it had something to do with walking. Blue stretched out their hands and gestured vaguely with them. Something having to do with size? Blue shook their head. Number? That earned Yvera and Laia a nod. A large number having to do with walking?

“Oh,” Yvera said, realizing what Blue was trying to convey. “You saw the neighbors all walking, right?” Blue nodded slowly. They assumed that it was Yvera’s neighbors they saw.

“They decided that they’d had enough of… well, what’s going on right now, so they decided to leave for Dirtmouth, at least for the duration of… until this all blows over.” That made sense, Blue decided. They couldn’t exactly sympathize, but given their knowledge of bug behaviour, it seemed a plausible reason.

“Why didn’t we go with them, Momma?” Laia asked.

“Well,” Yvera began, reaching over and patting the top of Laia’s head, “I’m still not feeling too well, and I don’t think I could make the journey like this. On top of that—you’d have to leave most of your things, and I know you don’t want to do that.” Laia gasped, as if she’d been frightened.

“I don’t want to leave my toys!” Yvera chuckled, and Blue even had a minute quiver in their shoulders—the vessel equivalent of exhaling sharply through one’s spiracles.

“Exactly, pupa. That’s why we aren’t going. We’re going to stay right here. After all, with Captain Blue here, what’s the worst that could happen?” They both glanced at Blue and laughed. Blue laughed too—their shoulders shuddered and they hunched over ever so slightly. Was this what it was like to have friends? Blue would certainly need to recommend that the other Sentinels get bug friends of their own. They would have to be different bugs, though—Blue wouldn’t share Yvera and Laia. And so for the moment, the troubles of Hallownest seemed distant to the three of them. In good company and with good cheer, the apprehension, frustration, and exasperation seemed to fade. For the moment, things were good—and Blue wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Eventually, of course, it had to come to an end. The food was consumed and Blue had to return to their duty. After a drawn-out farewell in the doorway of Yvera’s house, Blue set off back towards the Watcher’s Tower and the mire of all the administrative and logistical tasks of running a constant, city-wide search effort. On their way back, Blue took their time to appreciate the city. Had they ever truly looked at it before, with its grand towers sweeping up beyond sight, and the way the lights from the lumafly lanterns glimmered and shone through the ubiquitous and eternal downpour? Was this what life was like for the normal bugs? Did they see things like this all the time? What a wonderful thing to have friends, that simply by having them one might see more beauty in the world! That was what Blue thought. Sheets of rain showered the ground, and the sound rolled and sputtered in a constant undulating flow of water. The constant noise muffled all the other sounds in the city—Blue’s footfalls, the water dripping down from glistening streetlights and buildings, and the chirping of a flock of nearby maskflies.

When Blue finally reached the tower, they quickly made their way to their office and got to work planning out the next phase of the search effort. It was going to be a long night.

. . .

Hornet walked into the weavers’ workshop to get to work and immediately knew something was off, but she couldn’t quite put her claw on it. Suspiciously, she made her way to her workstation and began working on the current project she had in-progress. She had gotten about halfway through the weave by the time she realized what was wrong. For once, she could actually _concentrate_. That wasn’t normal. Usually, she would spend more time eavesdropping on her trainees than actually working. It didn’t reflect very well on her self-discipline, but listening in on others’ conversations was a far more agreeable form of social interaction than actually talking to another bug for Hornet.

Today, however, there was a distinct lack of conversation. The workshop had taken on a more somber and subdued air. Hornet mentally kicked herself for not realizing it sooner. If she didn’t immediately notice a sudden cessation of noise in the wilds, it could mean her death. Had the royal life really dulled her instincts that much? Hornet grimaced. How shameful. Perhaps she could… No, she had too much work to do tonight. An outing would have to wait. Well, regardless, she figured she ought to figure out what the source of this emotional malaise was.  
Hornet stood up and walked over to where she knew she could get some answers. Vera and Neth were always chatting. Yet, upon her approach, only Neth was at her desk. The fidgety bug straightened up as Hornet approached, but wisely held her tongue until the Queen spoke first.

“Where is Vera?” Hornet asked bluntly.

“I—Well—Er…” Neth stammered.

“If you don’t know, you can say so.” Neth breathed a sigh of relief.

“I don’t know, Queen Hornet… Normally she’s always here on time, but it’s been well over an hour… You don’t think…?” Hornet glanced to Vera’s desk. Many of the bug’s personal affects still rested on the surface of the desk, and weaving projects in various states of completion were neatly organized and placed in various cubbies which rested on the desk. It didn’t seem like Vera had simply quit without telling her. Hornet considered the various ways she could tell Neth that her friend, in all likelihood, had become another victim of the mysterious disappearances. She decided to go with evasion and redirection—changing the subject entirely.

“Do you know where she was last, or what she was doing last night?” Neth looked down sheepishly.

“Yes, I do. We were hanging out at her house last night.”

“And?” A green blush dusted the weaver student’s face ever so slightly.

“We enjoyed each other’s company and some… intoxicating beverages.”

“So it’s possible she neglected to come in today on account of a bad hangover?” Hornet asked, elegantly sidestepping the possible implications of Neth’s previous statement. What her students did in their free time was of no concern to her, so long as it didn’t reflect badly on her and their craft. Neth shrugged.

“I suppose so, but… that doesn’t seem like her. I’m worried. I don’t want her to disappear like the others…” Neth tapped her claws together, and her mandibles chittered nervously.

“Nor do I,” Hornet said earnestly, trying to console the bug. She knew it probably wasn’t going to work, but it was the best she would allow herself to do. These were, after all, still her siblings’ citizens.

  
But… that same nagging feeling wouldn’t let go. The compulsion to ensure the safety and security of each bug under her care wouldn’t fade. Before she knew it, Hornet was standing at the front of the workshop, addressing everyone in a calm and authoritative voice,

“I understand that many of you are concerned about the state of your city. Please understand that I am wholeheartedly with you while you endure these trials. Should you ever need anything, I am ready and willing to support you. You are my students and my friends. Do not hesitate to seek my aid should you require it. That being said…” And here she began to delve into dangerous territory.

“I think you ought to consider organizing yourselves. Perhaps you should meet in a common area and walk to the stag station and back together? Perhaps you should more carefully plan out your walking routes? I do not know what the King has decreed, but in times like these, all efforts count towards the greater whole. Please protect yourselves. I would surely like to continue seeing all of you regularly. Thank you for your diligence and hard work; please keep it up.” And with that, Hornet stole out of the weavers’ workshop. She didn’t have the desire to weave anymore. Besides, she figured she ought to give her weavers some time to digest her words.

Now, Hornet was on her way to her own personal workshop—the one she didn’t let anyone enter. It was tucked away in the highest part of the Beast’s Den, so she could tinker in peace. Hornet elected to ignore the newly installed stairs and zip through the passages with her needle like a true weaver. She made quick work of the trek upwards and came to the door to her workshop. Producing a small key from her cloak, Hornet unlocked the door and stepped inside. It was just as dimly lit as she had left it; the glowing mushrooms didn’t provide too much illumination, but they required much less care than lumaflies. Silk scrolls on shelves, on tables, and on the floor filled the entire space, making it seem even more cramped than it already was. On the contrast, the far wall was lined with neatly organized tools hanging above a worn out workbench. The air was thick with the pungent scent of resin and oil combined with the faintest whiff of something burnt.

Hornet relaxed when she entered. She knew she didn’t have to keep up appearances in here. Was this how her father felt when he was alone with his tools? Hornet grimaced. She hoped not. It was bad enough that her proclivity for tinkering mimicked his. To think that it would produce similar emotions on them? Absolutely scandalous.

But dwelling on it would do nothing, so Hornet pushed those thoughts away. Instead, she reached into a box of parts and pulled out one of her work in progress builds. Metal clanged, shell clacked, and wood clattered together as she removed it. Inspecting it and seeing that it hadn’t been damaged, Hornet smiled. Placing it on the workbench and pulling down some tools, she got to work. The mechanism to deploy the cutting edge of this particular tool was prone to catch, and thus, using it was not consistent. However, it was nothing that a little elbow grease and trial and error couldn’t fix!

  
This contraption had always been one of Hornet’s favorites. Whatever it was that drew her to it, this retractable, throwable buzzsaw was certainly some of her finest work. If only her father could see her now! One day, she would be a better tinkerer than the Pale King _ever_ was! If only he were there for her to rub it in…

. . .

Blue awoke from their brief nap and slowly lifted their shell from their desk. How long had they been asleep? The plans were gone from their desk. Someone must have come in and taken them while they were sleeping, or they gave them to someone before coming back here to pass out. The vessel hopped out of their chair and made their way down to the Sentinels’ break room. Although before the room had always been full of Sentinels milling about, nowadays it was more sparsely filled. What Sentinels weren’t on patrol were scouring the city for any sign of their mystery assailant to no avail, and the Sentinels that weren’t doing either were preparing for their next shift. Blue walked up to the massive, wall-spanning board which indicated which Sentinels were being deployed where and found their next assignment. They were slated to take over leading the search effort on the city’s third level in half an hour. That was hardly enough time to buy things for Yvera and Laia, but if they were fast, it could probably be done. It was settled, then.

Blue turned and began walking out. As they were making their exit, they passed by two fellow Sentinels just coming in from their posts. Blue recognized them—they were the two who had been scheduled to guard the elevator which led up to the Crossroads. Yvera’s neighbors would have passed right by them. Out of curiosity, Blue asked the Sentinel pair if the large group of bugs had made it there okay. The Sentinels glanced at each other and stood there confused.

_What group?_ Asked the first.

_Been quiet all shift,_ said the second. Blue paused.

_They didn’t pass through?_ The Captain asked. The other two Sentinels shook their head in unison. Blue swore. It looked like shopping would have to wait.

. . .

It wasn’t the damning report which got to Ghost, but the child’s doll deposited in their hands. The vessel almost shook from the frustration, anger, and sadness.

_I’m sorry,_ Blue said. _There was nothing we could do. We found their belongings scattered in alleyways around the base of the elevator leading to the Crossroads._ Twenty-six, gone—just like that. It was maddening. Ghost thought they would have been safe. They had said that they would be safe. Large groups hadn’t been targeted before. This was new—and Ghost’s lenience had cost those bugs their lives.

**_Sibling…_** Hollow said, trying to calm Ghost down, **_not a given they’re dead._**

_Doesn’t matter,_ Ghost snapped. Even though they were trying to mask their disappointment and frustration, it was hard for the other Void beings to avoid picking it up. Blue hung their head, apologetic and similarly distraught feelings radiating out from them like a blazing fire of negativity. Hollow was trying to soothe Ghost to no avail. The Collector had even decided to not speak up for once.

_New, stricter rules…_ Ghost thought to themselves as their thoughts percolated.

“What more can we do, my lord?” Asked the Collector. Ghost paced back and forth, thinking.

_Citizens must leave only with protection._ The Collector’s eyes widened.

“Good my lord, the logistics of that—they’d be astronomically difficult. The Sentinels are still a large minority among the bugs. It’s simply not fesable.” Ghost shot the Collector a sharp look, with words to match:

_Put them in jars?_ The jar-collecting god shook their head vehemently.

“Certainly not! Not if my lord does not will it.” The Collector paused, then eyed Ghost with a look of barely held-back excitement.

“Unless…?”

**_No,_ **Ghost said bluntly.

“Aw.”

_My liege, we cannot defend the city like this. We are stretched too thin. This force will continue to whittle down our citizens until we protect naught but architecture. We must begin thinking about evacuation,_ Blue said. It took a long time for Ghost to reply, but at last they shook their head.

_Cannot. If twenty-six are taken, what if more? Too risky._

_What else then, my liege?_

“You would do well to not question your King, Captain,” the Collector warned, turning their gaze on Blue.

_It is our **duty** to protect these bugs. We shall escort them away._ Blue’s mental posture shifted; it simmered with newfound determination and zeal. Where did it come from, Ghost wondered.

“What makes you think you have the strength to repel our mystery assailant? Mind your pride, Captain,” The Collector said, crossing their arms.

_No Sentinel has been taken yet,_ Blue asserted, puffing out their chest and glaring up at the other Void being.

“Just because this creature preys on the weak does not imply that it cannot defeat the strong. Besides, as we have previously established: you do not have the numbers to escort each bug out of Hallownest,” countered the Collector.

_Individually, perhaps, but as one group—_

**_Enough._** Hollow’s voice reverberated in their minds, and the Collector and Blue ceased their bickering. Ghost stood. They had a plan—they only hoped they could be forgiven for it. Without consulting any of those assembled, they began purposefully marching out of their throne room and down towards the basement of the Tower, which they had converted into a jail.

At the moment, there was only one prisoner. Ghost knew this because they had given the order to imprison them directly, and overseen its happening. This prisoner was also the bug whom Ghost would have the least qualms putting in harm’s way. It was a terrible plan, indeed… But they had run out of options, time, and patience.

. . .

With a cacophonous creak, the ill-fitting cell door swung open, causing the prisoner’s eyes to open wide in astonishment.

“O-oh… It’s the King… and company. To what do I owe the honor…?” Asked Millibelle the Thief.

“Our most gracious and merciful King has decided in their infinite kindness to pardon your crimes!” Announced the Collector in their shrill manner of speech.

“You would do well to thank them, for a sniveling gnat such as yourself is not even fit to drink the water which falls from their cloak!” Millibelle shrunk back as Ghost and Blue entered the cell, remembering what the ascended vessel had done to her all that time ago, before those vile, almost identical fiends dressed in blue cloaks seized her and threw her in this cell…

“W-well… I… Thank you, my King…” She stammered, fear dripping from her like the rain dripped from the Watcher’s Tower. Ghost stared back blankly. They had forgotten how pathetic she was.

“The King themselves will lead you to your new abode—the same gift any resident of Hallownest is entitled to. You will follow if you know what’s best for you! Pick yourself up off the ground!” Millibelle quickly obeyed, glancing quickly between the Collector and the two vessels standing before her. They didn’t stop staring. Millibelle took a quick breath and managed to choke out,

“L-lead the way, my lord.” Finally, Ghost turned around and began walking. Blue fell in behind Millibelle and waited for her to follow, which she did immediately once she realized Blue wasn’t moving. Ghost led her up the steps and out into the city streets. The thief looked up in wonder, like she was seeing the city for the first time again. Confinement in a cell underground did that to a bug, Ghost supposed.

They ascended through the various tiers of the City of Tears before finally coming to a stop at an unassuming house on an unassuming street on one of the city’s upper levels, far away from any other inhabitants. Ghost turned to face Millibelle and gestured to the door.

“Oh, is this mine…?” She asked, looking at Ghost as if they would reach for their nail any moment. Ghost nodded, and Blue tapped on her arm. She nearly jumped out of her shell, her head wheeling around to Blue. The Captain held out a key. Millibelle hesitantly took it and, after sparing a final glance at Ghost, slowly made her way over to the door and unlocked it.

“You are welcome, citizen,” said the Collector. Millibelle, unsure of what else to do, thanked them again, and quickly rushed into the house and shut the door. Ghost stood there silently watching the door for some time, before turning and trudging away, their gaze downcast. The others fell in behind them, all radiating some degree of concern.

_My liege…_ Blue wasn’t sure how to finish their sentence.

_Do **not** let her out of sight,_ Ghost ordered. Blue bowed their head as they walked.

_It will be done._

They hated this. They hated that they were doing this. They hated that their father was right.

. . .

_Ghost pulled back, shaking their head vigorously. They would never consider doing something so vile! The Pale King followed them, the hem of their cloak gliding silently across the ground._

_“Mark my words, Godslayer: when you are forced to make the choice between what is right and what is necessary, you will heed my advice. Do you think I acted out of malice or callousness? Everything I did was for the greater good! Everything! I did what I **had** to do. Have you forgotten I had foresight? There was no other way to ensure the survival of my kingdom—my people. Do you deny that it was correct? Your genesis, your sibling’s imprisonment and failing, their cry for help—all of it culminated in the destruction of the Old Light! Perhaps this end was not brought about in the way I had planned, but I knew that the course of action I was taking would lead to the death of the Radiance. Like it or not, I was right!” The King raved. Years of bottled-up frustrations released themselves in a single moment as the Pale King furiously justified himself to Ghost._

_“I can feel it in you already… the boiling in your blackened veins, the way your mind races when you think of what harm might befall them… You would do anything to protect those under your care. Out of love, right? Well, I say to you, vessel, nothing less motivated me. I gave them minds! I gave them hearts! Before me they were but senseless beasts, worth little more than the dirt they burrowed in! Do you think I needed to do that? I could have let them languish in savagery under **Her** control. It was kindness and pity which moved me to free them, not envy or greed!” The King stopped, breathing heavily. Then he realized what he had done and straightened up, breathing deeply and recollecting himself. Ghost, to their part, hadn’t flinched._

_“Before this is over, you will understand why I did what I did. You will understand what I meant when I said ‘no cost too great’.”_

. . .

Perhaps their father’s mantra wasn’t an explanation to the masses or his wronged family, but a way a way of justifying what he did to himself; maybe repeating that to himself, over and over again, was the only way he could live with his actions, his guilt, and his regrets. Or maybe the Pale King was lying to Ghost? The way his shell shook with conviction, the way his kinglight burned with passion—would a heartless bug give such a visceral defense of himself?

It didn’t matter. What was done was done. As they were walking away, Ghost felt a part of them shrivel up and die. It was the lie they had told themselves so vehemently that they forgot they were lying in the first place—the lie that they would doubtless be a better king than their father; the lie that they wouldn’t make his same mistakes. Perhaps they were foolish to believe that they would remain righteous in the face of the in-negotiable reality of their situation. Perhaps their optimism had been illusion. Was this really what it was like to be a king? Had they truly deluded themselves into believing that they wouldn’t have to choose between two horrible options?

Surely this was the fate that befell their father. He was caught between the destruction of his kingdom and the destruction of his good name and conscience—and he took the latter. Imagining what could happen if they continued down this path, Ghost could see themselves becoming just the same.

_No cost too great,_ Ghost repeated derisively. Yet, as they said it, they couldn’t help but take a modicum of comfort in it, and they hated themselves for it.

They really were their father’s spawn, weren’t they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, we're really getting into it now... Eheheh...
> 
> Anyways, I have somehow managed to survive the first slew of midterms and whatever else college has thrown at me this past semester. Since it's now spring break for me, I finally had the time to finish this up. (I'm not making these chapters longer each time on purpose I swear.) Who knows? I might get more free time soon, what with the coronavirus and all; it's becoming increasingly more likely that my college is going to shut down. Personally, I think it's inevitable, what with us being in a huge urban center with confirmed community spread and a slew of cases already, but that's neither here nor there. You're here to read, not listen to me ramble on about life, ha-ha!
> 
> This chapter was a lot of segues and transitions, setting things up for the first Big Thing. What this could be, I shall leave up to your assuredly capable imaginations. We also get some more fork dad action, Hornet being the mom queen, and everyone having a grand old time stewing in their own neuroses and unresolved daddy issues. Fun for the whole family!


	6. Fortune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a thief gets her due, two Kings are put in uncomfortable situations, Hollow displays their problem-solving skills, and the other vessels are just trying to maintain order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: some body horror
> 
> EDIT 5/28/2020: fixed minor formatting issues & typoes and did some small edits to make the writing flow better

Ghost was awoken by Hollow’s tossing and turning. The larger bug had rolled over in their sleep, knocking Ghost away from where they had been cradled in Hollow’s arms. The little vessel hit the ground with an unceremonious _thunk_ and jerked awake. They looked around, quickly scanning the room. Were they under attack? What had happened? But the room was empty and silent, save for the muted wash of sound from the city’s constant rain shower. Finally, their gaze fell on Hollow, who had curled up and was quivering in their sleep.

_Sibling!_ Ghost bounded back over to Hollow and fell over their shoulder, shaking them.

_Sibling, wake up!_ But Hollow would not. They shivered and shook, heedless of Ghost’s pleas. Ghost tried to push deeper into Hollow’s mind to deliver their message, essentially shouting into their mind. Yet Hollow did not answer. Ghost shouted and shouted, tossing the covers off of Hollow and continuing to violently shake their sibling. They had always woken up from their nightmares before. Why was this different? For what felt like eternity Ghost tried to wake up Hollow, pushing as far into their sibling’s mind as they could, to no avail. Nothing was working! Ghost’s shade sputtered and squirmed with distress. They were out of options. The only thing left to do was…

The dream blade ignited in their hands, the familiar sensation tingling the tips of their claws as Ghost raised it up high and swung... But it bounced off! Even asleep, it seemed Hollow’s mental defenses were still too stalwart for the awoken dream nail to penetrate. Ghost was at their wits’ end. They were panicking.

_Sibling wake up please wake up sibling please scared concerned distressed worried afraid—_

Ghost didn’t keep track of how much time it was before Hollow finally bolted up straight, breathing heavily, but as soon as they did, Ghost launched themselves up, clutching their neck and painfully clacking their masks together.

_Issiblingwellwhathappenedneedhelpafraidexplanationwhatnightmare?! _Hollow returned the hug, pulling Ghost close to themselves.

_**I’m okay,**_ Hollow whispered past Ghost’s rapid-fire insistences and inquiries. They soothed their concerned sibling with calming feelings and reassurance. As Ghost clung to Hollow’s neck, cradled in their arms, Hollow became acutely aware of how small they were. Despite everything, they were still a child at heart, and their younger sibling—and right now, they were afraid. Hollow held their sibling tight, rocking gently back and forth, until their mind quieted and heated fear faded to cool concern. Ghost’s grip slackened, and Hollow eased them down. Ghost sunk back into the giant pile of blankets and pillows they and Hollow nested in and looked apprehensively up at Hollow.

_What happened?_ Ghost asked, gently nudging at Hollow’s mind. The larger vessel inclined their head and turned away.

_**Bad dream.**_ Ghost clambered over their sibling’s leg and once more positioned themselves firmly in the center of Hollow’s sight.

_Bad how? _Ghost could feel the waves of shame sloughing off of Hollow like water off of a cloak drenched in the city’s downpour. Hollow didn’t answer at first, prompting Ghost to repeat themselves. At last, Hollow reluctantly murmured,

_**Dreamed of Her.**_ Her. Ghost should’ve known.

_She’s_ _ gone. Can’t hurt you anymore. It’s okay. _

_**Do you know that?**_ Hollow asked, looking directly into their sibling’s eye sockets. If She was gone, why could they still see Her?! Why did She appear in their dreams? Why, whenever they tried to Focus, could they feel Her image burned into their memory? Was She even destroyed, completely and utterly, unless that stain on Hollow’s memory was excised like the tumor it was? Hollow’s shoulders shook once more.

_**Do you?**_ Ghost pressed their mask against Hollow’s, rubbing their horn.

_Yes_, they said. _Killed __H__er. Watched __H__er die._ Hollow’s quickened breaths slowed ever so slightly.

_**D**__**ead? Completely? For sure?**_ Ghost felt a pang of guilt at what they were about to do.

_Yes,_ they lied, their shade sinking lower and chilling with regret. Then again, was Hollow really asking whether or not she was totally dead? Perhaps the core of what they were asking was more along the lines of, “can she still hurt me?” and the Radiance most certainly could not! Besides, reassuring their sibling was more important than stringently adhering to the literal truth. Over the course of many minutes, whispered reassurances, and comforting touches, Hollow’s labored breathing slowed and their chest stilled. They had fallen back asleep. Ghost carefully squirmed around, nestling themselves more comfortably in Hollow’s arm, and promptly joined their sibling in sleep.

In their dream, Ghost once again met with the Pale King, only this time the scenery was different. They were not high up in the clouds, but deep in the caves of Hallownest. They were in the Abyss, looking out over the still, black, massive expanse of liquid Void which rested at its bottom. The darkness and encroaching wisps of smoky darkness diminished even the Pale King’s formidable glow, muting it and turning it dull.

“I remember the first time I visited the Sea,” the Pale King said. “I had heard tell of its majesty and danger before, but never set eyes upon it myself. After the Infection… Well, I needed Void to run my experiments—no cost too great, and all. You understand.” Ghost hated that they did, and that the Pale King didn’t even need to ask for a confirmation.

“Come—let’s walk.” The Pale King stepped off of the dock and fell, his robes billowing around him like a great sheet, before landing on the solid surface of the lake. Ghost followed, hopping down next to their father. The two set off along the Void lake, walking along the jet black surface without even a reflection. Not even ripples emanated outward from their steps; it was like walking on glass. The Pale King glanced down at Ghost, who was staring straight ahead. They were waiting for him to make the first move, weren’t they?

“I understand if you’re upset,” he said. “I was too, the first time I did what was necessary, but at times like these, we can’t afford to let our sentiments get in the way of doing what’s right.” Ghost leered at him, turning their head just enough to the side to attain that effect.

_Right,_ Ghost thought derisively. _What is right? _

“We cannot allow our people to come to harm. This is bigger than one bug—any bug, even us. Some may die, but as a whole, Hallownest will survive. Their deaths are tragic, certainly, but tragedy cannot be avoided in this life. As King, you must accept that, and learn to work with what you are given. However, acting in accordance with this truth will earn you the ire of those bugs whom you rule. Your subjects will not understand you; they will curse you and revile you for doing what is necessary. That is the burden of monarchy. Yet, for all its hardship, I would not trade it for anything. It is the greatest privilege I can think of. Count yourself lucky, Godslayer, that you are in this position. Not to mention, there are many perks to being royalty, as I’m sure you’ve discovered. Therefore do not despair, for the good and desirable outweigh the negatives to a high degree,” said the Pale King. Once again, he glanced down at Ghost to judge their reaction, but found no change in the vessel’s posture or gait. Had he not said the right thing? Without his foresight to guide him, he had to venture through this new relational crucible relying only on his own judgment. Perhaps words alone might not be the answer? It would be so easy to reach out and… Under his robes, the Pale King’s arm shifted, but nothing more. Old habits died hard, even if the deceased were the ones who kept them. They were too much like the last one… Only this vessel was more lively, more of a person—not that it was hard to be more expressive than the Pure Vessel. Just what were they thinking, anyway?

The reason Ghost was not responding was because they were lost in thought. They disagreed with the Pale King, but couldn’t fight his words. The Pale King had the advantages of age and education, where all Ghost had was conscience. What could they say that the Pale King would not twist and bend around so that it was rendered impotent? What argument could they make, what defiant gesture, that would defeat his? It was not the weakness of their principles that kept them silent, but the ignorance of how to defend them. And so Ghost continued trudging along mutely as their father lectured them, wondering whether or not he really was right all along. Could it be that they were unable to find an argument to match his because there was none? Ghost wasn’t sure, and that wavering confidence lodged itself in their shell like the Voidheart, refusing to abate. Were they like the subjects who, failing to see the big picture, fought against the Pale King tooth and nail?

“As someone who has been in your position before, please believe me when I say: you did the right thing. I doubt your misgivings and silent doubts are dissimilar to mine—I, too, was once a novice king. Even worse, I had naught but my foresight to guide me. All that I learned, I learned through struggle, but knowledge is knowledge, regardless of its manner of origin. I am happy to see that you’ve begun taking the proper steps to ensure a long and prosperous continuation of Hallownest’s saga. I’m...” The Pale King paused. This bordered the cusp of uncharted territory. They had only uttered this particular phrase once before, but broaching new territory was worth it for the vessel’s sake.

“...I’m proud of you.”

_That_ earned a pause. Ghost stopped and turned to face the Pale King, looking up at him, scrutinizing him. The Pale King held Ghost’s stare with one of his own, his steely gaze infamous for even causing the Great Knights to cow. Yet Ghost was a young and powerful god, and not even the Pale King could gaze long into the abyss.

“Let’s keep moving,” he said, turning and continuing to shuffle (more like glide) towards some unknown goal. Ghost followed, catching up with a few extra energetic bounds. Was that enough? Would that help them? He hoped it would. It was so much easier being a King than a father… But maybe that was just the reliance on foresight talking.

Ghost kept pace with the Pale King as they progressed over the Sea’s dream facsimile. They had to do a kind of awkward half-jog to match the Pale King’s speed, though, which wasn’t ideal. It seemed the Pale King was not used to adjusting his gait for the sake of others. Eventually, the pair reached the far side of the cavern. However, the tunnel on the other side did not lead deeper into the cavern, but opened up once again into the dull grey clouds of Void-infiltrated Godhome. (Voidhome? That seemed a fitting name. Ghost decided to call it that.) Yet, the light from outside did not penetrate into the Abyss, which was just as dark as ever. A small platform extended out from the cavern’s exit. As Ghost and the Pale King made to cross the threshold, something bade Ghost pause. It was a feeling, a sensation—a prick at the back of the mind. Without thinking, Ghost turned and looked back. Staring back at them, just below the surface of the Sea, were eight glowing white slits.

. . .

Millibelle made sure to double check that her doors were locked before finally leaving. It was time to do some shopping. She glanced back and forth as she walked, keeping a brisk—but not overtly so—pace. It was past the active hours of the City of Tears, so the streets would be deserted. Though, the streets were always deserted these days. No-one wanted to be caught by the mysterious bug snatcher.

...Not that anyone had told Millibelle, of course. The reclusive old bug had no reason to leave her house. She did not have a job; she did not have any friends. Her meals were provided to her in the form of various raw ingredients. Naturally, of course, she had no say in what they brought her.

“I can’t believe they expect me to cook for myself,” she muttered to herself as she walked down the way.

“I’ve just traded one cell for another. I’m going to go mad if I have to stay in house arrest any longer! And all without my pretty, pretty geo…” Millibelle sighed deeply, lamenting her distinct lack of those alluring, shiny, precious bits. That was why she was out here in the first place: to fill that empty void in her shell—err, _heart, _where her geo used to be, before that wretched little devil confiscated it all!

As if by providence, Millibelle spotted a glint out of the corner of her eye. It was a single piece of geo that had fallen by the gutter and lodged itself between a pair of stones in the road. What luck! Millibelle swiftly scrambled over and plucked the bit of geo from its perch and, after shaking off the water, stowed it safely in her shell. Yet, one geo would not be enough—not by a long shot. The pitiful clattering as a lone geo tumbled around inside of her always saddened Millibelle.

“Oh, poor little geo,” she cooed, patting her shell gently, “don’t worry. We’ll find you some friends soon.” And so Millibelle continued her prowl through the streets of Hallownest, searching for easy pickings. Suddenly, a bright idea popped into her head: she should go to the commercial district! Surely a few of the bugs there would have forgotten some geo in their stalls? It wouldn’t be much, Millibelle thought, but it would be enough to satisfy her for the day.

“No need to rush,” she said to herself as she walked. “Plenty of time, dearie; plenty of time. These achy old joints don’t need to run so quickly anymore. Those days are behind you, now.”

Millibelle slunk through the streets of the City of Tears, avoiding thoughts about the good old days. The constant azure spray that permeated the entirety of the city was great for making hasty getaways, losing pursuers in its shimmering droplets. The omnipresent pitter-patter of raindrops muffled the footsteps of any would-be thieves or tails. Why, it was a wonder that the city’s nobility ever got rich to begin with, what with thieves having so many advantages here in the city! Of course, things were never that simple. In those days, city guards had thronged the city as numerous as the raindrops. During the waning days of Hallownest, the guards could stop and interrogate any citizen they deemed suspicious. It was a measure that the Pale King had put in place to help slow the spread of the Infection. It didn’t help. That had never stopped Millibelle, though—only foolish petty thieves were dull enough to be caught by the guards.

Millibelle’s _real_ strength were her cons. She swindled many unsuspecting nobles out of their money. Unfortunately, after the Infection swept through Hallownest, all of her potential marks either died or faded into obscurity. Millibelle would’ve broken into their estates and taken their geo for herself, but she wasn’t stupid; she knew that the city would be crawling with infected. So, she found a nice, peaceful spot, set up her next con, and waited. She waited, and waited, and waited, eking out a minute existence among the plants and vines, yearning for the day someone would come along and bring her more geo. How long had she lived in that little hovel, waiting for someone to arrive? Surely it couldn’t have been too long…

Millibelle’s pace slowed. She couldn’t remember how long it had been since she had seen another bug when that _thing_ showed up. Had she really just been there for ages, focused on her geo? How long…? Millibelle stopped. Did she always crave geo so strongly? Sure, she had gone through the trouble of relieving it from bugs who didn’t know any better, but to have such an incessant itch, to have such a need… Surely it hadn’t always been this way, right? Millibelle shook her head to clear it of such nonsense. She had told herself she wasn’t going to focus on the past. What mattered was the here and now—and right now she _wanted _geo. Millibelle continued on her way, eventually coming to the old commercial section of the city.

Millibelle began poking around, searching for something shiny. The stalls and storefronts stood abandoned. The only thing preventing holes from forming in the roofs and letting in the rain was the impeccable engineering of the city’s buildings. Wherever the new citizens had restarted trade in the city, it certainly wasn’t here. There wasn’t any geo to be found either; braver thieves than she had already picked it clean.

“Fiddlesticks,” Millibelle griped, moving away from another stall. “Is there not a single piece of loose geo in this whole city?” Her complaint would have echoed, were it not swallowed up by the rain. Begrudgingly, Millibelle shuffled over to the next stall. This one was different from the others. It didn’t seem as broken down. Had someone actually been selling goods out of here? Millibelle’s heart quickened. Could it be…? Would she actually find some geo? Her claws shaking, she reached out to the cash register and—

_“__Eureka!”_ she cried! Jackpot! Millibelle laughed as she greedily gathered up all the geo in the register and shoved it hastily into her shell. Oh, how wonderful! She laughed with happiness as she emptied out the register, dropping the last of the geo into her organic safe. Sighing with contentedness, Millibelle leaned on the stall’s counter. This trip really had been worth it after all. Perhaps she could find even more? Millibelle crouched down and looked behind the counter. There were a couple of cupboards, so she opened them all. She instantly regretted that decision. Reeling back, gagging, she slammed the cupboards shut. They were full of rotting fish! The cupboards were just melted iceboxes! After recovering herself, Millibelle tried another drawer, making sure to lean far back when she opened it. This one, thankfully, did _not_ contain outdated piscine scraps, but some kind of sack. Millibelle took it out and looked inside. It was a bundled up sheet of fabric. How curious. Millibelle set the sack on the counter and pulled out the fabric. It was soft and fluffy, very comfortable—a blanket. This would be a welcome addition to Millibelle’s house! She needed a new blanket.

“Oh, what’s this?” There was something scrawled in one of the corners. _For Yvera, _it read. Millibelle scoffed. What kind of a name was Yvera? Well, whoever they were, they certainly didn’t need the blanket as much as Millibelle. The old bug stuffed the blanket back into the sack and tied it up. Tossing the sack over the back of her thorax, she began walking back to her house. What a haul! Geo and a blanket! How lucky! Millibelle tossed her head back and smiled broadly. She was ecstatic!

...But not so much that she didn’t notice the shadowy figure dip below the ridge of one of the buildings’ roofs. At first, Millibelle thought her age was just getting to her, but then she heard a sound, almost like some kind of moaning or hushed whisper. She couldn’t identify the source. It was almost like it was from inside her mind.

“Who’s there?” Millibelle called, stopping in her tracks. She scanned the roofs around her, edging more towards the middle of the street. Nothing answered but the rain.

“I saw you out there! Come out! There’s no use hiding! I’ll call the guards!” Millibelle kept shouting, slowly drifting over to the end of the block.

“You’ll come out now if you know what’s best for you! I won’t stand for this!” She was almost there…! Just a bit more, and she’d start running! And here she thought she wouldn’t need to run today…

“I don’t know what you want, but whatever it is, you won’t be getting it!” There! She was at the end of the block! Millibelle broke into a dead sprint. The sack on her back weighed heavy, but she wouldn’t relinquish it! She had stolen it, fair and square! They wouldn’t get a geo off of her! Certainly not! Mist trailed behind her as she ran; puddles splashed and coated her legs, but she didn’t stop. She slipped and fell, cracking her shell against the pavement, but she got up and kept running. Her shell was tough; it had been enough to stop the nail of that horrid creature. A fall was nothing! She would keep running all the way home! Her legs almost felt lighter. Was this excitement? The thrill of the chase? Despite herself, Milibelle found herself laughing. Of course! She was Millibelle the thief! Nobody could catch her!

“Eat my dust!” She cried, knowing full well she could outrun her pursuers.

. . .

Blue was midway through cleaning out Laia’s maskfly’s cage when they got the call.

_Stakeout to Bastion: unintended contact with subject Miser. _ _10-80_._ Please advise _ _10-18._

Sigh. It was bound to happen eventually. Vessels weren’t known for their subtlety. Blue’s shade curled up, its eyes drifting shut as they projected outwards, using the connection they all shared through Ghost as a relay for their message:

_Stakeout, continue pursuit: Bastion will intercept.__ 10-43 on subject destination?_ As much as it pained Blue to leave, duty called. They placed the maskfly back into her cage, ignoring its pecks, and quickly hurried out into the living room.

“Ah, Captain, you—is something wrong?” Yvera stood up, concerned. Blue shook their head and made their way to the door, tapping the badge on their chest.

“Oh, I see. Stay safe!” At that, Laia scrambled into the living room

“You’re leaving so soon?” She called. Blue nodded, opening the door and hastily waving goodbye. The pair returned the favor in kind, and Blue shut the door behind them. Right: time to work for a living.

The Sentinel Captain set off at a brisk pace towards Millibelle’s house. That was probably where she was going.

_10-4 on last, Bastion; __subject heading towards __own residence__._ Well, that confirmed it. Blue started running. It would be best to meet the crotchety geezer not soon after she arrived. Blue rolled their head and Focused, projecting once again:

_Stakeout, subject 10-77 to destination?_

_This is Stakeout: 10-77 is 15 minutes._

Fifteen minutes? That old scrooge was quicker than they thought. Blue broke into a run. Had the Sentinels assigned to monitor her really spooked her that badly?

. . .

Millibelle rounded the corner and kept sprinting to her house, huffing and puffing. Okay, maybe she had misjudged the swiftness of her followers. She glanced back to catch a sight of them. Blurs of white and blue—Sentinels; they had to be! They were watching her. How long? They must have seen her poking around. They knew. _Damn it all, damn it all! _Millibelle had to keep running. She couldn’t stop. If those foul creatures caught her, who knows what they’d do! No, no, no! Keep going! Don’t stop! Her legs ached. Her muscles burned. Spots kept appearing at the edge of her vision. _Curse this old body! _She coughed and sputtered as she ran, heaving with every stride. The only things keeping her going were the clinking of geo in her shell and the fear of being caught. Her legs failed. The bag came splashing down into a puddle; water flew everywhere. Millibelle gasped for breath and began to crawl. They would not have it! She wouldn’t give up her precious geo!

Two splashes behind her—two Sentinels landing hard in the rain. Millibelle wheezed as she dragged herself up to the door, scrambling to get her feet underneath her. Suddenly, a figure stepped in front of her vision, and she was looking up at a pale blue cloak. Millibelle gulped. The Captain. They were staring down at her, their expressionless shell reading like a mixture of disappointment and annoyance. The pair of Sentinels that were pursuing her stepped up behind Millibelle and waited just out of view. Blue crossed their arms. Were they waiting for her to speak? No, she wouldn’t—not now, not while she was catching her breath. Inhale. Exhale. Ack! It ached. The Captain tapped their foot. They were getting impatient. It would only be a matter of time before those Sentinels behind her seized her and made her cough up what she had rightfully re-possessed. She hoped they wouldn’t use their nails like _that one_ had…

But they wouldn’t get that chance. She wouldn’t give it to them.

“I suppose…” Millibelle paused to take a few more breaths. “...You want an explanation?” She shakily stood up, getting her feet under her, despite her exhaustion and the eternally slick ground. Blue nodded, but gestured with their arm, indicating that they wanted more. The geo. They wanted it back. What else could they possibly want? Millibelle laughed tiredly.

“Yes, yes… I understand, dearie… I understand perfectly. I’ll tell you why I did it.” _Keep talking. Catch your breath, Millibelle. Your legs don’t ache so bad now, see? You’ll be fine. Just keep distracting them. You’ll have your moment. Your body might be breaking down but your mind is just as sharp as ever!_

“You see, I just adore geo. I can’t get enough of it. Haven’t you ever looked at a piece? They’re sparkly; they’re beautiful. Don’t you see? They’re perfect clods of wonder. Gaze into a perfect piece of geo and tell me you don’t feel the same. Don’t give me that look—you haven’t done it. You just don’t have the mind to appreciate geo, do you? You can’t stand transfixed by its splendor? Oh, dear… Little one, your world is so cold and dark, isn’t it? You’re stuck here in this rainy, wet place, doing nothing but walking around, doing your rounds, nothing more than a statue with a brain. Well, look around you! Look how the rain shines!” Millibelle tossed out her arms and threw her head back. The Captain kept their eyes on her. She laughed and leaned in close, placing her arms on Blue’s shoulders. Behind her, the Sentinels readied their weapons, but Blue stopped them with a hand motion, not breaking Millibelle’s gaze.

“Geo sparkles even more brilliantly than that,” Millibelle purred. “So, do me a favor, and try to appreciate the beauty in the world… You can start with the rain in the puddles, and work your way up from there.” And she flung Blue into the gutter. Splash! Millibelle jerked for the door, feeling a pair of nails swipe uselessly at her shell. Her hands, the hands of a master thief, deftly inserted her key into her door and unlocked it. Millibelle swung the door open and leaped inside, two more slashes at her back, pulling the key with her. Without sparing a glance behind her, she threw the door shut. _Crack!_ One of the Sentinels was caught in the door! They stared up at her and began to wedge their hands into the gap. No no no—that wouldn’t do! Millibelle held the door shut with one hand, throwing all her weight behind it, and grabbed a vase with the other. While the Sentinel was still straining to open the door (Millibelle was using her girth to hold the door shut) she brought the vase down on their head. The vase shattered, and the Sentinel was stunned. Millibelle kicked it hard, and the Sentinel tumbled out the other side. The door slammed shut. She had won.

Millibelle locked the door quickly and leaned back against it as the Sentinels forcefully slammed against it. She exhaled deeply. They wouldn’t be able to get in for a bit. A jolt passed through the door and disturbed her every few seconds, but it held. She had some time to think. Once again, that strange whisper echoed in her head. Was that the Sentinels? Were they trying to talk?

Meanwhile, outside, Blue oversaw the the other two Sentinels trying to break down the door. It wasn’t going as quickly as the Captain had hoped. Oh, well. They might as well use the time to investigate that bag she had dropped. Blue picked it up from the ground. The sack was so big they had to hold it with two hands, and it was sopping wet. It had landed in a puddle. The sack itself was made of some decent quality canvas, but it was not water repellent. It was tied not with a rope, but with a red ribbon, now soaked, faded, and torn. Opening it, Blue pulled out a giant, thoroughly soaked blanket. They could hardly hold it in their arms—it tumbled out of its tightly packed form and landed in the puddles with a _schlop._ It wasn’t _ruined,_ but it would certainly need a thorough clean. Why had Millibelle stolen such a thing? She wasn’t in need of any blankets. Blue glanced back at her door with distaste. Had she really stolen it just to steal it?

_ How… _They searched for the right word. _Despicable. _If they had possessed a mouth, Blue would have been frowning in distaste. As they were investigating the blanket, something caught their eye. It was the label in the corner—to whom it was addressed. Blue stared at it and felt the water dripping from their hands and running down their arms. It wasn’t from the rain, but from their clenched fists squeezing the blanket. Their arms shook and they dipped their head, their shade crackling and writhing in its root-made shell. How dare she…!

Blue hastily stuffed the blanket back into the sack and roughly shoved it into the arms of one of the Sentinels. This just got _personal._

Millibelle’s rest was interrupted by a nail bursting through the door. Millibelle yelped, startled, as the nail retracted, then came crashing through again, widening the crack. The senescent bug scrambled away on her back as the nail continued to split the door open. The window—the window! It was the only way! Millibelle clambered to her feet and sprinted through the foyer to the living room. Behind her, she heard the door finally give way and rough footfalls rapidly tromp in. One step, two steps, and she leaped into the large window in her living room. _Crash! _Glass shattered and Millibelle landed in the alleyway behind her house. Where next? No time to think! She had to _go!_ _Get up! _All she could hear was her heart pounding and the rain coming down around her. Millibele didn’t have time to be tired. Her legs ached but she didn’t care. She was off, down the alley, the Sentinels in hot pursuit. Millibelle burst onto the street and took a left. Buildings seemed to fly past as she ran as fast as she could. In the distance, she saw it—the elevator! She just needed to get there! It would take her out of the city into the Crossroads! That was all that mattered. Millibelle tried to control her breathing as she sprinted. The entrance to the elevator grew ever larger in her view. She was going to make it…!

Blue ran with their nail out, the rain splattering against their shell and disappearing into their eye holes. Their shade gurgled and squirmed, eager for justice. Millibelle had a lead, but she couldn’t run forever. The vessels would run her down, and then they would catch her and deliver her to the King. Their monarch would decide her fate. Not to mention, if she was carrying goods related to Yvera’s mate, there was a slim chance that she knew what could have happened. It was a lead, however small. And so Blue dashed after her, not just for vengeance on behalf of the bugs they cared about, but for the sake of all the City! They would see this mystery solved, no matter the cost!

Millibelle’s legs carried her to the entrance of the elevator that led to the Crossroads. The passageway narrowed as she got closer. Two Sentinels were guarding the entrance, but she blew past them before they could react. The rain faded as she entered the walls of the massive cavern enclosing the City. She could hear the footfalls of the Sentinels only a few paces behind her. Their steps echoed in the cavern, drowning out the creaking of wood and rattling of chains. Millibelle pushed herself with all her might to just keep going, until finally the lever was within reach! She threw herself onto the lever, knocking it askew. She whirled back, just in time to see the metal doors slam shut in the Captain’s face. They ran headlong into the metal gate, slamming into it full-force. The other Sentinels skidded to a stop behind them. Millibelle panted and stared at the Sentinels on the other side in shock and astonishment. She had did it. She had outrun them. She was going to be safe. The Captain slashed at the metal in frustration and anger, seeing their prize just out of their reach. Once the elevator’s doors had closed, it would carry her up to the top, and the switch to bring it back down wouldn’t activate for a few seconds, giving Millibelle ample time to leave.

“I win,” Millibelle said in disbelief, both to herself and the Sentinels. The elevator began to rise, the far-off sound of ancient chains and gears rumbling as the machinery quickly pulled Millibelle up, away from the Sentinels. She watched them fade away, growing ever smaller, while the whispers once again picked up. This time, they didn’t fade, but grew louder and louder, buzzing in her ears like an angry maskfly. Damn it, why wouldn’t they shut up?! She was getting farther away from the Sentinels, but they seemed to be coming from everywhere now, not just her head. Why were the voices getting louder?!

Meanwhile, on the ground, Blue tossed their nail on the ground and punched a nearby wall.

_Captain, _one of the Sentinels cautiously poked Blue’s mind, approaching them. The named vessel turned and glanced at the speaker, assenting to the continuation of their thought.

_Contact the guards at the top of the elevator. They will apprehend subject Miser. _Blue slowly nodded. Of course. That was the sensible thing to do.

_Do not feel._

Why were they overreacting? They should have known better. How silly of them. Blue shook their head to clear their mind.

_Do not think._

They heard a yelp—a whoop of celebration, no doubt. Blue’s anger momentarily flared back up, but they reined themselves back in. There was no need to be upset. But, after all, weren’t they justified? Millibelle had broken the law, and it wasn’t like she wasn’t morally repugnant...

_Do not feel…?_

No, they could indulge a little… Just not too much. Millibelle deserved what was coming to her, though. They would serve justice to Millibelle. She would get her just desserts.

Blue walked over and retrieved their nail. They shouldn’t have thrown it, either… Without a proper nailsmith, they all had to rely on nails scavenged from long-dead city guards or other sources. Their position afforded them a higher quality nail than most—they needed to be more respectful of their equipment. Blue kicked themselves mentally. That wasn’t their strongest moment, to be sure.

Well, time to contact the guards on top. Blue reached out with their mind as they walked back to the entrance to wait. They would have the elevator guards apprehend Millibelle and bring her back down. Once she was in custody, they’d shake her down for all the geo she stole and bring her to the King. Yes, that seemed like a wonderful plan.

_Bastion, this is Topside One, 10-9 __last message__? _Blue stopped. They didn’t like the unease that crept its way into the sensation of the topside elevator guard’s message.

_Topside One, Bastion: prepare to apprehend su__spect_ _ coming up in your elevator, and escort them back down. How copy?_

_ 10-4, Bastion… What su__spect_ _?_

Blue froze. No, it couldn’t be. They bounded over and yanked the lever to bring the elevator back down as hard as they could.

_Get the King__! __NOW!_ They roared to one of their attendant Sentinels. To the other, they mentally shouted,

_As soon as the elevator gets here, get inside and hit the lever!_ The first vessel started sprinting immediately as soon as Blue gave them the word. The second nodded and got into position. Blue stood in the middle of the room, staring up at the darkness of the long shaft upwards.

. . .

After what felt like an eternity, the elevator finally reached the bottom. The doors swung open, and the Sentinels sprung into action. The minor Sentinel quickly slipped inside the elevator and hit the lever to send it back up, and Blue crouched down low and jumped on top of it, grabbing onto the chain at its peak. This definitely wasn’t safe, but vessels, unlike regular bugs, didn’t have much to worry about falls. The elevator began its ascent. Blue clung on for dear life as the air whipped by their shell, their cloak fluttering, spraying droplets of water everywhere. All the while, they scanned the shaft for any sign of Millibelle.

_There!_ Called the other Sentinel. Blue looked. There she was! Except… there she _wasn’t._ Millibelle was half sticking out of the wall, her arms hanging limply. In the dimness, Blue couldn’t make out her face, but that didn’t matter, because the biggest issue was _how she did she get out of the elevator in the first place?!_ Blue would find out once they had rescued her. Blue jumped off the chain, towards the side of the shaft, their nail at the ready. They watched as the wall grew closer in their vision, Millibelle directly below them. Blue stabbed down with their nail, digging it into the wall. It hardly went in, and did nothing more than clang off unhelpfully and spin out of their grip. Their nail spiraled away, down back to the base of the elevator shaft. Blue scrabbled at the wall, looking for a handheld, but none came, and Millibelle was rapidly approaching below them. Bereft of any other options, Blue dug in their claws to the wall as they fell. The friction burned, and they felt their Void and root-made carapace being stripped away by the rough stone wall. Pain shocked through their arms, their shade recoiling, but they couldn’t afford to let go. Blue pushed through the pain and was able to slow down enough to reach out and grab onto Millibelle, but they could instantly tell something was _deeply_ wrong.

Blue’s arm sunk into Millibelle’s flesh as they reached out to grab her, and as she turned her head to look at them, Blue’s shade quivered with revulsion. Millibelle was _melting._ Her shell and flesh were sloughing off in deep rivulets, becoming more gelatinous and mushy. Her face was drooping, the tops of her eyelids pulling down and covering them halfway, while her face below her eyes was pulling down, exposing the muscle and sinew within her eye sockets. Her mouth had undergone a similar metamorphosis, exposing her lower teeth and gums while flesh began to pool in her mouth. Blue’s arm had sunk fully into Millibelle’s shell, and was beginning to burn, like it was being digested. They tried to pull away, but found that they could not. They would have to wait for gravity to do its work while they moved through Millibelle’s body like molasses. Millibelle’s mouth moved, and out of it came a distorted, gurgling noise. Blue came to realize it was _words._

“_My geo,_” Millibelle babbled, “_Don’t let them take my geo. You can’t have it. It’s mine… It’s mine… Oh, it hurts… Why…?_” She was crying, the wailing sounding like she was trying to scream while gargling a mouthful of water. Millibelle drifted her head back and forth, bringing her hands up to grasp at her face. All that did was exacerbate the situation, further distorting her face, so that it looked more like an uncanny mess of facial features tossed into a bowl of porridge. Blue’s shade whimpered. They were _afraid._ That was, after all, why they had been discarded in the first place. Their father knew; he saw how their legs shook when he inspected them. That was why he snapped their neck and tossed them back with the rest of their siblings. Was that why they had spent all this time attempting to mimic some sort of domestic life? Was it a flight from reality? From their duty? Were they, deep down, too fearful to carry out their orders? They had not truly confronted the horror of the situation until now, and the revelation sent their shade reeling. Now, when it was in their face, rather than far off, they faltered.

Blue grabbed their arm and tried desperately to yank it out. They braced their legs against the wall and tried to jump. They shook and squirmed and raged against the force that held them stuck in Millibelle’s body. It was no use. They couldn’t move. Their fall had halted, and they were suspended midair, hanging from Millibelle’s body. The burning sensation surrounding their arm was increasing in intensity. Were they going to start turning into jelly too?! Blue redoubled their efforts, but it was all in vain. Millibelle continued to weep as she slowly sank further into the wall.

“_No… No!_” She cried. Blue felt their arm hit something solid. The wall. They tried to use that as leverage, but still had no luck. Then, they felt something hard and bumpy press up against their arm. They squirmed at the sensation, trying still to yank their arm out of Millibelle’s increasingly gummy body. More of those strange lumps began to pile up on their arm and the wall as Millibelle continued to be sucked further into the stone. As the wall began to swallow her up to her neck, small pieces of geo began to be pushed out of the glop that used to be Millibelle’s body, emerging out of her jellified shell like a tonsil stone being extracted. The geo pieces popped out and began to fall with increasing frequency, and Millibelle moaned in anguish.

“_My geo!_” She called, distraught. Slowly but surely, Blue’s arm began to surface out of Millibelle’s flesh. Millibelle had been pulled up to her neck now, and Blue’s arm was presently being pushed through her face. Small streaks of liquid void tears stained the edges of Blue’s mask as they strained to remove their arm, any cares about how their movements might scramble Millibelle’s insides long since forgotten. Finally, as the last of Millibelle’s face was sucked into the wall, the thief’s flesh released Blue from its sticky hold and the Sentinel fell, tumbling back to the ground. They flipped end over end, the air whistling by, before landing with a crash. They impacted with a tremendous noise, cracking the back of their shell on the stony ground, followed by their carapace. Blue recoiled in pain, arching their back. Their hands shot to the back of their shell as they rolled over, silently declaring their harm. As they felt the back of their shell, they were relieved (as much as they could be) to find no cracks or dents of any kind. Root was very durable. Before long, Blue’s pain subsided, and they laid there, surrounded by geo, staring up into space. They were _this _close… and the opportunity slipped through their fingers—literally.

Waves of distress hit them like a sprinting stag beetle. They curled up and shook, unable to manifest their agony through voice. Blue clawed at their shell, screaming, though no sound emitted from their throat, their inflexible shell not communicating the magnitude of their suffering. There could be no mistaking it. This was what had caused the other bugs to disappear. They had met face to face with the mysterious force that was causing all of the City’s problems and they had _faltered_ and _failed._

. . .

It was like a scene from a nightmare. That _thing,_ that monster Ghost had felt themselves morph into at the height of the Pantheon—it was here. It was staring straight at them. They _knew_ it was staring at them, specifically. They could just tell. Ghost couldn’t detect any more than that. Neither malice, curiosity, or desire radiated from the creature hiding under the glassy surface of the Sea. However, it wasn’t there for any good reason. Ghost’s hand inched up to the nail on their back. They would end this abomination while they could.

“Vessel?” The Pale King shuffled up behind them. “Is something wrong?” Ghost glanced at the Pale King. Could he not see it? They pointed at the eyes. The Pale King followed their hand, but did not speak for a while.

“I have not seen anything like this before. What are we looking at?” Ghost refrained from answering. They shut their memories and emotions off from their father, not wanting to admit that this was what they had become. The eyes narrowed, swaying back and forth, like a predator sizing up its prey. The Pale King slowly began to turn.

“Whatever it is, let us heed it not. It seems to be quite contained underneath the Sea. Nonetheless… perhaps we ought not visit this place again, if that creature is cause to give you pause.” Ghost couldn’t agree more. But first…

The Godslayer took up their nail and dashed forward, swinging it into a reverse grip. The eyes widened. Was it surprised? Ghost pressed their foot down hard into the Sea’s surface, skidding to a stop above the eyes. They gripped their weapon with both hands and stabbed down, stale air whirling in their nail’s wake. _Clang! _Their nail bounced harmlessly off the Sea, leaving it unblemished. The eyes stared up at Ghost, not shining, but a pure white all the same. Ghost sent waves of emotional energy down, directed straight at the non-existent part of space this monster currently occupied.

_ **Leave! Begone! Back! Away! Out! Shoo!** _ They fruitlessly slashed at the Sea with their nail, ignoring the startled cries of the Pale King. The eyes narrowed once more. The creature was annoyed. The eyes silently turned back and the massive creature descended back down into the Sea. Ghost could feel the prickling in the back of their mind receding. They chose to believe that they had won this battle. They also chose to call it a battle. The Pale King finally caught up with them, breathing with the measured heaviness of someone who doesn’t want to be seen winded.

“Was that necessary?” Ghost nodded. The air of finality surrounding the gesture left no room for argument. The Pale King scratched the back of his head.

“I suppose you would know best,” he admitted. “Come. Let us continue walking.” He once again made towards the exit, his quick pace betraying his eagerness to leave. Ghost couldn’t fault him; they were tired of the oppressive memories and demons come to haunt them. The two of them made their way out of the Abyss and onto the platform waiting for them. When Ghost looked back after they had exited, there was nothing there but the other edge of the platform they usually stood on. Though, was it just them, or did the clouds seem a little bit darker?

“...I _ did _ have a question I wanted to ask you.” Did he? Ghost gave the Pale King their attention. Were they detecting some apprehension in him?

“When did you first realize it? That you were not…” He nearly said pure, but stopped himself. They probably wouldn’t appreciate that term, and the connotations it held with it. Pure implied good, and that implied, on the converse, that their current state was impure, and therefore, _ not _ good. No, no. That simply wouldn’t do. The Pale King considered “hollow”, but he shot down that as well. He did not want to introduce anything into the conversation that could bring the Hollow Knight to mind, for both of their sakes.

“...empty,” finished the Pale King. Oh, was that all? That wasn’t a very hard question at all. It was when—

“You misunderstand, vessel,” The Pale King interrupted. “I am not asking for the moment you became un-empty. That is a question for another time. I am concerned about when you first _ knew _ that you were not.” Oh. That was a harder question. When _ did _ they first realize it? Ghost had to think about that. They stared back at the Pale King, pondering the question. The Void-tainted clouds shifted, swirling around, memories fading in and out as Ghost tried to remember. Truth be told, the language of emptiness and hollowness hadn’t even entered their understanding, let alone their vocabulary, until long after they had ventured down into Hallownest’s depths. They had always just assumed that what they felt—the echoes of vestiges of emotions lingering within them—was emptiness. They presumed they were empty without even knowing what emptiness was. Ghost searched their memories of the events that had transpired since their journey to Hallownest for the exact moment they became aware of their un-emptiness. They had experienced affection for Hornet, sorrow at the loss of their siblings, anger at the Path of Pain—the distant _ bzzzzz _ of buzzsaws momentarily echoed throughout Voidhome, and the Pale King’s glow burned a bit brighter, either out of embarrassment or interest.

“The Path of Pain. It was the most heavily guarded part of the dream palace, and what remained of the corridors leading up to my personal quarters. Its terminal point was where I kept my most precious memories…” His first night with the Lady. Holding Hornet for the first time. The completion of the City of Tears. That one day he had laid his heart bare to the Pure Vessel…

“That was where you realized you were not…?” Ghost shook their head. “Then when?” Ghost kept thinking, but they could only reach one conclusion. It had to be… when they returned _ there. _ The Pale King felt an instinctive unease lodge itself in his chest. Ghost’s demeanor had changed. The Void clouds darkened and began to press in.

“Vessel?” The Pale King asked, beginning to become concerned. Ghost only turned and pointed, and the Pale King beheld a massive puffy Void cloud stretching out before them, its depths opening wide to reveal a memory.

_ They were climbing. Their vision could barely pierce the Void-saturated air. All they knew was that they needed to keep ascending, keep moving upwards. That was where the Voice was beckoning, and all they could do was obey. There was no decision on their part, nothing that convinced them to do so. The vessel simply Did. Every so often, a _ crunch _ or a _ thud _ would announce the fall of another body from above. The vessel ignored them. They were meaningless. Not even when a figure, so much like them, fell in front of them, the shell shattering and shards flying everywhere, did the vessel cease its upward advance. They trod over the corpse and kept moving, occasionally clambering to the top of small piles of little bodies to get even a fraction more height. The sea of cracked shells and broken vessels was far below them now__—__not that they cared. _

The Pale King’s breath hitched in his chest. The bottom fell out of his stomach. _Not_ _there_, he desperately—and privately—pleaded. _Please, don’t bring me back there._ The words, _his _words, echoed through the clouds. **No mind to think. No will to break. No voice to cry suffering.** His hands were shaking. He shivered, but he could not tear his eyes away.

_ They were nearing the top now. His glow was blinding, compared to the darkness of the Abyss. The vessel simply adjusted their orientation so that the brilliant illumination would not get in the way of finding the next platform to jump to. The bodies had stopped falling. _

_ No, _hissed every fiber of the Pale King’s being. He didn’t want to see them again. He didn’t want to be reminded. He didn’t want to remember what he lost. A whimper died before it could escape his jaws. A lump caught in his throat. The anticipation, almost as much as the memory itself, was killing him.

_Something else was occupying the great metal landing that He was on. Irrelevant. However, to jump from the platform to reach Him, they would need to turn directly into the light. Thought wasn’t necessary. The vessel turned without thinking, without willing. They couldn’t see. The Kinglight wouldn’t permit it. Reason would urge one to stay put, but the vessel did not possess it. It was so bright. The vessel leaped… And they fell. The light had __impaired their sight,__ caused them to misjudge their distance. They reached out with their arms and __with a small _thunk _managed to catch the very edge of the metal landing. __Still compelled by the force of the King, they__ pull__ed__ themselves up so that their head just peeked above the edge. Silhouetted __by the dazzling glow was one not unlike themselves, but the vessel did not have the mind to recognize it. The other, however, did. It heard the soft clatter of the vessel’s landing and turned back to look. __What passed through its head in that fractional time? Only they could answer, and the hanging vessel didn’t—couldn’t—ask._ _Then,__ a deep voice from beyond bade the __staring figure__ follow, and so they turned and walked out, into the pale, all-encompassing brilliance. A great tremor shook the whole Abyss, and the vessel was tossed from its perch, falling, falling, falling, into the darkness below._

The Pale King bowed his head and seemed to deflate. He remembered every letter of every syllable of every word he said while he awaited the arrival of a pure vessel. It was agony. Seeing them standing there… it was like a vision from paradise, or the fondest of his memories. His perfect vessel. His Hollow Knight. They were the answer to all of his problems. _ They were his beloved child. _ They were the Pure Vessel. _ They were everything he desired and more. _ They were the end to all of Hallownest’s suffering. _ They were his greatest triumph. _ They were the culmination of all his sacrifices. _ They were his greatest sacrifice. _

“Funny,” he mumbled to himself, “that in that moment I was full of pride and drunk with satisfaction at what I would later look back on with deepest sorrow. For all the good my foresight has given me, it never revealed my future grief…” Suddenly, the cloud shifted. The memory was not yet over.

_ Slowly, the world came into vision. Ghost’s sight swam with inky Void liquid. They had been crying. Pushing off the ground, they rose to a standing position, staring back at their reflection. This had been the egg they clawed their way out of with the rest of their clutch. Their mind was awash with sensation and recollection. They remembered everything; their past had been lost to them, until now. Their siblings, their birth, their second-place finish in the race to the top… And above all, they understood. Emptiness, hollowness, purity_ _—_ _those things they once possessed, but had now forsaken. They saw their father’s vision, and knew that they had diverged from it. And they were not ashamed, for they much preferred their current state. _

The memory faded, and the cloud drifted away. Ghost faced the Pale King, their hollow eyes boring directly into their father’s soul.

_ You did that. _ It was not an accusation, but merely a statement of fact. The Void-stained blood of countless of their Siblings was on his hands. They had been there for the slaughter. They had seen the results of his quest. They knew.

The Pale King could not respond. The words caught in his throat. He choked back an outpouring of decidedly inappropriate emotions and gripped the inside of his robe so tightly he almost thought it might tear. What could he possibly say that would excuse himself? No, excuse was out of the question, as was an explanation. An apology, too, would be sorely lacking. Indeed, nothing could make up for what he did. There was no amount of groveling, or begging, or screaming and crying that would ever wash away his guilt and regrets. Yet, still, he knew that he did what he had to do. Right?

_ Murderer, _ his heart of hearts whispered to him.

_ No cost too great, _his mind responded. Yet, Ghost’s statement deserved an answer. He had much to answer for.

But, again, there was simply nothing he could say. As the Pale King despaired, his soul sinking, the dream began to collapse. Ghost noticed it as well, looking around. Someone was trying to wake them up. They could feel the attempts at intruding into their mind. It was another Void creature. The dream’s imminent conclusion did not disturb the Pale King, who was still deep in thought. However, as the white light of waking closed in on the two of them, and Ghost began to fade from his vision, he knew he needed to say something. To fail to respond would be worse than simply remaining silent.

“Yes,” he choked out, his voice breaking, hardly above a whisper. “I did that.”

And everything went white.

. . .

“Wake up, my lord.” Ghost’s shade roused from its stupor and they sat up. Hollow’s arm tightened around them. They had moved to a cross-legged position and were cradling Ghost in their lap. The Collector was standing across from them, one pair of hands clasped together in an apologetic gesture, and one of the other pair holding a rolled-up scroll. Ghost wiped off some void that had leaked out of their eye hole and gestured for the Collector to continue as they pulled out their nail. It had been a bit since they had last polished it.

“Pardon the intrusion, but we’ve received a letter from the Mantis Lords.” Ghost paused and looked up. The scroll did indeed bear the seal of the Mantis Lords. However, the seal seemed damaged in some way, as if it had been opened and then resealed. Ghost queried the Collector about this, but they didn’t know anything about it, and a quick inspection of their mind revealed no evidence of lying.

_ Hand it over, _they said. The Collector obeyed, quickly presenting the scroll to Ghost, who immediately grabbed it and unfurled it. Another piece of parchment fell out as they unrolled the scroll, which Ghost caught and set off to the side for the time being.

_ To the most respectable and noble King of Hallownest, _

_ We hope our correspondence finds you in good health. _ _ It has been some time since our last meeting, and we eagerly await our next. The purpose of this letter is to follow up on some of the proceedings of the last conference of nations. After much deliberation, we have _ _ agreed upon a location for the proposed stagway linking our great tribe with the magnificent edifice of the City of Tears. We never would have afforded such a privilege to your predecessor, but on account of your superlative friendship and cooperation, as well as a willingness to rebuild the relationship between the Mantises and the bugs of Hallownest, we have done so for you. See the note attached for the technical details, and it would be well if we could meet sometime in-person to work out the finer points. Please write back to us as soon as you can indicating your receiving this message, as well as some times that would work for you. _

_ With this new stag _ _ station__, we believe it also would be prudent to increase trade between our societies. Although the cosmopolitan and luxurious items of Hallownest do not interest the Mantises, other inventions of yours, such as advanced farming tools, treated wood, and other ingenious items are of great interest to our people. Likewise, we believe the goods that we Mantises produce will be of great demand for the bugs of Hallownest: exotic meats, spices and seasonings that can only be found in the depths of the fungal wastes, and other raw materials that only exist where the Mantises can reach them. We have much to offer each other in the days to come, and it is our hope that we can build a prosperous and beneficial trading relationship, for the benefit of both our peoples. Again, we can discuss the finer points in person. _

Then, at the very bottom of the letter, were three mantis clawprints: the signature of the three Lords. However, there was another message scribbled at the very bottom of the scroll, in far messier and less composed handwriting, almost as if the bug who wrote it was in a terrible rush. Its style and tone were entirely unlike that of the rest of the letter.

_ p.s. by the way please next time we meet spar with us again, or come by and spar whenever. We always love to have you visit and train with us. It’s exhilaration like nothing else. The Strongest among us would really really like to fight with you once more. Not to mention she is owed a rematch. _

...Who had written that? Strange. At least they knew what the other sheet of parchment was now. They would need to draft up a response as soon as they could. Ghost handed the parchment to the Collector, but kept the scroll for themselves.

_ For the menderbugs, _ they said. The Collector nodded, then turned and began to walk out, only to be thwarted by the door flying open and smacking them in the face. The Collector stumbled back, clutching their face.

“Agh! My face!” They cried. “Who did that?!” It was a Sentinel, and they were radiating waves of urgency that demanded Ghost’s attention.

_ Lord! Trouble! _Cried the vessel. Ghost stood up, expanding their perception to include all of the vessels. What had transpired while they were asleep?! They should have checked in with the other Sentinels as soon as they awoke. As Ghost began to inspect each cluster of sensory information coming from the individual vessels, the distressed Sentinel spoke.

_ Captain Blue has found the source of the disappearances! _

The effect of their words was immediate. All eyes snapped to the Sentinel who spoke. The Collector, the Hollow Knight, and the Ghost of Hallownest all stared directly at the Sentinel.

_ **Show me,** _ Ghost ordered.

. . .

In no time, a platform had been erected in the elevator shaft. The menderbugs had been mustered in force to complete the project in record time. The new stag station would have to wait. Ghost was chomping at the bit to follow this lead, and they would not let _ anything, _ especially not time, get in their way. The rickety wooden platform, despite its questionable structural security, easily held the weight of Ghost, Hollow, the Collector, and a strike force of some of the best Sentinels in the city, as well as many menderbugs chatting with the Collector.

“We’re telling you, it _ cannot _ be done!” One cried, buzzing with agitation, speaking in that quick, clipped tone that menderbugs often took.

“It’s too risky! We don’t know what’s behind that wall! It might bring down the whole shaft on top of us!” Added another.

“Not to mention, it might damage the elevator’s machinery, if any is back there!” Said a third. The Collector crossed all four of their arms and glowered down condescendingly at the menderbugs.

“All I hear are excuses!” They pointed an accusing finger at the three belabored workers. “This is an order from the King themselves! You _ will _ obey, or I will see to it that you are removed from your positions and never allowed to pick up a hammer again! Then, I will find menderbugs who _ will _carry out our lord’s instructions, and have _them_ do it!” The Collector continued to berate the workers in their shrill voice while Ghost spoke to the Sentinels, all of them assembled in orderly lines, grouped together by squad.

_ Anything could lurk there. Watch for missing bugs. _ _ Explore everything. _ As they spoke, they shared their own sensations and experiences with the Sentinels, memories from when they were exploring Hallownest, showing them techniques they had learned, and sharing the instincts they had honed through constant practice. The chance, however slim, that they might be able to find and recover the missing bugs was enough for Ghost to push all pessimistic—some might say realistic—thoughts out of their mind. The alternative was too terrible to consider. Meanwhile, Hollow stood looking on, watching the Collector shriek and Ghost look over their Sentinels. It was strange, seeing so many things happening at once. It almost felt like back _ then, _ before the Sealing, when they accompanied their father on outings to the City for added security. Bugs were everywhere, the din of conversation filled the whole room (mental and emotional sensations in the vessels’ case), and danger loomed on the horizon. The whole air was abuzz with activity, equal measures of excitement and apprehension. And of course, they were glad something was finally _ happening _for once. It had been too long since the investigation had turned up anything useful. Now, in one fell swoop, it looked like it was nearing its conclusion. Hollow felt a little lighter than usual, and they held their head high. They were happy.

...Then the Collector let loose another, particularly harsh string of reproaches, and Hollow’s mood soured. They really couldn’t stand the teardrop-headed fool, acting like they were Ghost’s gift to bugkind. So entitled. So bossy. Hollow watched them with distaste, noting how the menderbugs flinched as they yelled. They couldn’t stand it when the Collector yelled. It reminded them too much of the way the Pale King would shout at Hornet when he was particularly cross with her. Their arguments were legendary in the White Palace. They were experts at getting under each other’s skin. It was only thanks to their naturally taciturn disposition and many years of training that Hollow didn’t take matters into their own hands and set the Collector straight. However, they still wished they would stop…

Hollow’s gaze drifted towards the patch of wall that Blue had said Millibelle got sucked into. Could it really be true? Could what they were searching for really lie only just behind that stone? Hollow began to walk over it. There was only one way to find out, and it conveniently involved getting the Collector to shut up as well.

As Ghost’s speech neared its conclusion, Blue approached them from the side. They waited for Ghost to finish speaking before approaching them. As Ghost gave the vessels one last rousing command, Blue finally stepped up to them.

_ Yes? _Ghost asked. Blue did their absolute best to remain stoic and keep any indication of ulterior motives out of their consciousness. They knew what they were suggesting was an intelligent decision. Whether or not it lined up with their own desires was irrelevant. At least, they hoped it was. They told themselves as much.

_ While you are gone, it might be best if I stay here. Someone will need to look after the Sentinels still on duty. _ Ghost nodded.

_ Good idea. Do that, _ they said, turning away to go speak with the Collector. Blue stood there for a moment, taken aback. Wait, had it really just been that easy? They were fully expecting for Ghost to grill them on why they were asking to stay behind, what their intent was, and they had prepared a whole argument in their head as to why this would be a good decision. Did Ghost really just give them the go-ahead without a second thought? Blue stared at the ground, dumbfounded. After several seconds spent collecting themselves, they turned on their heel and began to head for the ladder down. “Never look a gift stag in the mouth,” Yvera had said once.

Not a moment after Blue turned, a tremendous _ crash! _ echoed through the chamber. Tens of nails were immediately drawn and pointed towards the source. It was Hollow. They had punched clean through the wall. Ghost stared, and the menderbugs did too, utterly flabbergasted. Hollow proceeded to tear open a gash in the wall, big enough to walk through, completely unconcerned with the many pairs of eyes focused on them. Once the deed was done, Hollow turned around, pointed to the opening, and addressing Ghost said,

_ **Door.** _ The Collector blinked.

“Well, that’s that,” they said, and shooed away the menderbugs. Ghost went over and peered into the hole. There was a crawlspace behind the wall, like some kind of service passage. The passageway was dark and unkept, with cracked walls and leaks interspersed throughout its length, which continued off out of sight. Ghost reached out and ran their hand along one of the walls. It came back relatively clean. If the walls weren’t dusty, that meant that something had come by recently. It was time. However, there was a small problem: the passage was only big enough for Ghost and any other vessels of similar size. Hollow was definitely not going to fit. Ghost turned around and intimated as much to the vessel in question, who chittered with displeasure. Ghost tugged on Hollow’s cloak to get them to kneel down, so they did.

_ Be back soon. Watch the city, okay? _ They said, rubbing between Hollow’s horns. The large vessel bowed their head, enjoying the contact, not wanting it to end.

_ **As sibling commands, ** _they said. If Ghost had a mouth, they would be smiling.

_ Good, _ they said, and hugged Hollow’s face. Their sibling returned the favor, bringing their arm around to squeeze Ghost. Eventually, however, they had to pull away, and Hollow stood up. Ghost stepped towards the entrance and gestured for the Sentinels to follow. Sparing one last glance at Hollow, Ghost unsheathed their nail, held up their lumafly lantern, and walked through the impromptu portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Another chapter done. Things are really getting going now. I have a good idea of what's gonna go down in the immediate future, sorta-ish, so please look forward to that. 
> 
> I hope you're all doing well during this time. Thankfully, everyone seems to be acclimating, at least where I am, so life is continuing on. I swear, I had planned to create a story where people are stuck inside of their houses afraid to leave for fear of being got by a strange, invisible force before all of this went down! Anyway, jokes aside, I'm really glad to get this one out. The chapters seem to be getting longer and longer every time, and I think about >= 10k words for chapter is a good amount, so I'll be aiming for those kinds of numbers from now on. In other news, we've hit 50k words! Hooray! I don't know how I pulled that off. Story's far from over, too, as far as I reckon. Wonder where we'll end up?
> 
> Anyway, thank you for your continued support. All of your comments and upvotes and everything do honestly make this whole process that much better. They really brighten my day every time I see them. (Am I pavloving myself into enjoying watching numbers go up? Oh dear. But seriously though seeing people interact with this fic actually still blows my mind.)
> 
> As always, stay tuned for more.


	7. An Edifice of Failure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which ascension pays its dividends, memories return, and words are exchanged like bullets.
> 
> Content warning: body horror, self-harm.

A faint blue glow pierced through the darkness, and the parade of vessels marched on into the unknown, Ghost at the helm. They had to move single-file, for the passageway was too narrow for them to march abreast. The ancient architecture creaked and groaned as they passed through, the sound of the constant deluge an ever-present feature, even here. Small puddles that had gathered, made from the drippings of rainwater that had managed their way into this tiny space, occasionally broke to the forefront of the white noise as the vessels splashed through them. There was no conversation between the vessels; they did not even exchange brief jolts of emotional information. All of them were singularly focused on one goal alone:

Find whatever was behind these disappearances and destroy it.

Some light was shining up ahead. An exit, perhaps? Ghost gripped their weapon tightly. The pure nail still glistened even in the low light of the lumafly lantern. Its channels and coils shimmered with the minor enchantments the Nailsmith had worked into the blade, the pale ore he had used serving as a catalyst. If the nail had a mind, would it be looking forward to spilling more blood? It had certainly been a while since Ghost had used their nail. The last time would have been when they trained with Hollow under Nailmaster Mato, and that had just been sparring matches.

In a roundabout sort of way, Ghost hoped that they wouldn’t need to use their nail. They had been serious when they said they didn’t want to kill anyone else—but as King, they had a duty to their citizens. If force of arms was the only thing that could defeat this evil, then so be it. Thoughts of duty and determination sprung unheeded into Ghost’s mind, memories of their quest to free their sibling from the clutches of the Old Light. They had pursued that goal with such relentless focus… it was nice to see that their determination hadn’t deserted them, but simply transferred itself to their new duties.

As Ghost approached the portal which was illuminating the passageway, it quickly became apparent that it was not an exit into some unknown room, but a hole in the wall. Ghost paused as they reached the hole and looked out, seeing the vastness of the City of Tears spread out before them like a wide tapestry. The massive spires of the City of Tears and the grand, convex roofs of the largest buildings were front and center in the vista. Gargantuan flying buttresses supported these spires, themselves originating from similarly immense structures. They were high up in the cavern. Here, the rain was thick. It pelted Ghost as they stood there, thoroughly coating them in a thin film of water as they scanned the city’s cave. The imposing towers of the City of Tears with their giant glass windows and spiderweb of interconnected bridges stretched on as far as they could see. Far down, below the complex network of bridges and buildings, were the city streets, themselves mostly overpasses for the extensive system of channels and artificial rivers that drained the product of the constant downpour into the city’s waterways. Viewed from this height and angle, the sight was magnificent. Although the view from the Watcher’s Tower was incredible in its own right, this small, insignificant hole managed to capture the majesty of the City of Tears in its totality. It was the closest thing one could get to an outside view of the city.

Seeing the city in such a way both magnified and diminished the existence of its inhabitants. On one hand, looking at the city now, Ghost could see how small all of them were in comparison to it. One could completely miss the remnants of Hallownest’s civilization moving through this city; they took up so little space. The city could swallow up all of Hallownest’s citizens and hide them all away so that none of them could ever find each other. It was a labyrinthine monster of glass and stone. It was here before any of them, and most likely it would remain long after they were all gone. On the other hand, Ghost knew that contained within this view were each of the bugs they had sworn to protect. They weren’t just seeing the city, but its people contained within it. Each one of their lives was so precious—so fragile. It invigorated Ghost, renewing their desire to protect their citizens. How many dreams were encompassed within those stone walls? Who else was looking up at the rain in wonder? Each of those bugs they cared for had hopes, aspirations, loves, losses, prides—each one was as complex as the city itself. If all the myriad substances that made up a bug were physical objects, if one could hold a dream or take a bite out of a memory, Ghost was certain their volume would far exceed anything the city was capable of holding.

And how many dreams would be washed away like the rainwater down the city’s drains if they didn’t succeed, here and now? Ghost bowed their head, turned away, and continued walking. No, they couldn’t tarry. They had bugs to save. No amount of wistful soul-searching staring out on the city would shield their citizens from whatever malicious force was stealing them away. Ghost’s Sentinels followed them, some glancing out the hole in the wall as they passed, others continuing to stare straight ahead.

The path continued on for some time, curving ever so slightly, seeming to circumscribe the cavern, before abruptly turning right and heading what Ghost judged to be into the city. The vessels continued their mute procession, following the path set out for them with no deviation. None had private second thoughts or doubts in the importance of their actions. Something was waiting at the end of this corridor: the answers they sought. The monotony of their march did not perturb them; vessels did not suffer from boredom so long as they had a goal they were working towards. The infinitude of time they had been born to endure necessitated as much. Nevertheless, it was mildly frustrating that their walk had no end in sight. Their nails, while not heavy in their hands, were cumbersome and would every so often clank against a minor obstacle or the wall of the service hallway. Ghost eventually returned their nail to its resting place on their back, and the rest of the Sentinels followed suit. They were in for a longer walk still.

Eventually the Sentinels came upon a fork in the road. The service hallway proper broke left, leading to some other location, but another passage had opened up to them. This one was decidedly not part of the city’s original architectural plan, but made—quite sloppily—afterwards. It was in effect a tunnel, like something that a garpede would make, but with such precision and seeming intent as to appear bug-made. Something with a mind was behind this tunnel, and thus it was clearly their path to take. The Sentinels entered the strange tunnel. As they were walking, Ghost noted that the walls of their new route did not bear the tell-tale signs of age that the rest of the city so ubiquitously exhibited. This was _new._ They were getting close.

By the time some far-off light started coming into view, the vessels were thoroughly eager to get their claws on the culprit of the mysterious disappearances, and hurriedly rushed forward into the room ahead. The chamber was brightly lit, the same kind of string lights that covered the interiors of many other buildings in the city hanging from the ceiling. This room appeared to be some sort of small library or personal archive, as it was covered from wall to wall in bookshelves overflowing with stone tablets. Boxes and chests full of tablets piled high were pushed up against a corner in a large stack, with many more of the same records pooled out at the feet of the mountain of writing. The only thing in the room that was not either a tablet or a means of storing them was a single, very old chair missing a leg, propped up by even more discarded tablets. There was also a single door that led to a new location.

Ghost thought that whoever used this room must have really liked reading.

The Sentinels slowly filled the room, fanning out and searching it. Few of them could read beyond what was necessary on the day to day, and the ones that could were unable to decipher the incredibly dense shorthand used on the omnipresent reading material. Ghost went over to the chair and scrutinized it. It was large, with a sweeping, curved back. The chair was worn out, with visible grooves on the seat and back where its occupant must have sat. There was only a minimal film of dust on it as well. Ghost’s shade simmered with suspicion and they walked over to the door. It was a simple door, not really notable, but as Ghost tested it, they found it was locked. No matter, they just unsheathed their nail and—wait, was that humming?

Ghost refrained from breaking down the door just yet, and instead leaned in close to listen at it. Sure enough, there was _definitely_ someone humming on the other side, and by the sound of it, they were approaching. Ghost instructed the rest of the vessels to hide themselves, and they did so. Some concealed themselves in the massive pile of chests and boxes, and others fled back into the massive hole in the wall. Ghost stood in the center of the room and waited.

Sure enough, the jingling of a set of keys announced that someone’s presence on the other side of the door, and a soft _kh-chunk_ indicated that they were unlocking the door. The door creaked open slowly, and Ghost got their first view of the bug on the other side. Or, at least, they would have, if they hadn’t been carrying an exorbitant amount of the same stone books that filled the rest of the room. Ghost watched with curiosity as the unknown bug dragged themselves into the room, groaning in exertion from the weight of the books in their arms. Ghost could tell that they were almost as wide as they were tall from the way their arms cradled the books. With a pained shout of exertion, the bug turned and tossed the books into a smaller pile that had accumulated in the corner. With the books out of the way, Ghost could clearly see the identity of their suspect. It was a soul twister! Ghost couldn’t mistake that froglike visage and glowing crown of pearly white soul gems for anything else! Yet, their main two eyes weren’t stained with orange like Ghost had previously seen, but white. They weren’t Infected. As if on cue, several more piles of books floated in, carried by wispy motes of Soul magic, and also found their way to the pile.

In a way, Ghost wasn’t surprised that the trail had led here. They had sealed off the Soul Sanctum for this specific reason—there was no telling what terrible and dangerous secrets still lurked within its walls. However, they hadn’t expected that there would be any bugs actually _living _inside of it when they had sealed it off. They thought they had thoroughly exterminated every former scholar the last time they had been here, when they finally put the Soul Tyrant to rest. They supposed they had missed one.

It took the Soul Twister a few seconds to notice Ghost, because first they stretched and shook themselves to recover from their task, but when they did, they did a double take. Their mouth gaped in abject astonishment as they realized they were not alone. The Soul Twister reflexively jerked away, shouting in surprise, their back hitting one of the many shelves of books, sending the heavy stones clattering down and scattering along the floor. Ghost watched this with unamused passivity the likes of which only vessels could pull off. They didn’t even react when one of the tablets slid up to them and knocked against their foot, ricocheting off. The thoroughly bewildered Soul Twister opened and closed their mouth several times, each time looking like they were about to say something, before closing it after several seconds of not speaking or flummoxed vocalizations not communicating anything but intense dumbfoundedness.

“How—how did you get in here?!” He shouted, still pressed back against the shelf. Ghost, still staring directly into the other bug’s eyes, slowly pointed to the massive, incredibly obvious hole in the wall. The Soul Twister dragged his gaze from Ghost to the hole, then back to Ghost.

“Yes, I suppose that makes sense,” he said, unmoving. Ghost began to pull something out from under their cloak and the Soul Twister flinched. The small vessel rolled their shell around a bit—an approximation of rolling one’s eyes—and held up their hand to reveal a scroll. It unfurled, revealing an illustration of Millibelle. Ghost tapped on the scroll insistently. They wanted answers. Now.

“If you’re asking about that bug, I’ve never seen them before in my life. There’s no way they could’ve come through here! The only thing that hole leads to is a bunch of old corridors in the walls they put there for gods-know-what reason!” Ghost shook their head and stepped up to the Soul Twister, practically shoving the scroll in his face, which was hard, since he was much taller than Ghost.

“I don’t...” his voice trailed off as he watched the Sentinels Ghost had brought with them creeping out of their hiding places, all of them staring blankly at him with those expressionless shells and empty eyes. Ghost violently shook the picture in front of the bug, their shade seething with barely-contained anger. It wanted to reach out and _strangle_ him, to wring his neck and squeeze out the answers Ghost sought from him. It pressed against the confines of Ghost’s shell, wanting to _escape_. They had come this far, and they were not about to be stiffed by this ancient, puny scholar! The Soul Twister’s eyes widened as Void seemed to leech into the air around Ghost. He gasped in awe, his defensive posture softening.

_“The Void,”_ he whispered with reverence, his voice dripping with… yearning? That caught Ghost off guard, and they pulled back, lowering their arm, to get a better look at his face. Ghost didn’t like what they saw. In stark contrast to his previous appearance, the Soul Twister was now gazing at Ghost with thinly-veiled want, even leaning closer to maintain his proximity to Ghost. The Void retreated back into Ghost, and the Soul Twister seemed disappointed.

“That passionless force of consumption… The King was right to fear it. Not a single mind in our Sanctum could penetrate the enigma of the Void… They called me a fool for trying, but look where they are now...” The Soul Twister’s lips split into a grin that might have been called sinister on any other bug’s face, but its owner’s wide head and massive mouth just made it look cartoonish. Behind Ghost, the Sentinels discreetly began reaching for their weapons. Suddenly, the Soul Twister began to laugh. It wasn’t an ostentatious laugh; it was somewhere between a snicker and a chuckle. By some quirk of his soul-altered biology, the Soul Twister managed to grin even wider.

“So it was _you_ who finally rewarded my labor… The one whose call I heard.” Ghost’s shade froze with sudden dread.

“In that case, I owe you my thanks… Whatever you did, you gave me just what I needed to complete my research. The others—the ones that survived—they were not attuned like I was. They couldn’t hear the miracles you whispered in my ear. They didn’t understand the beauty of the vision I was gifted… The answer to our eternal quest.” Leaning in close to Ghost, his eyes almost bulging out of his face, the Soul Twister began to speak again.

“Come with me… I want to show you your—our—vision made manifest,” he hissed.

And that was enough for Ghost.

Nail flashing, Ghost struck out, cleaving through the bookshelves and shattering the tomes they held. Wood splintered and stone went flying. Dust flew everywhere. With a burst of light the Soul Twister vanished, reappearing just outside the doorway, narrowly dodging the nail.

“Come, o Great Void!” He shouted, beckoning to Ghost from across the threshold. “See your will given form!” Cackling, the Soul Twister zoomed off, racing through the Soul Sanctum’s corridors. Ghost was already chasing after them, leaving the Sentinels in the dust as they raced ahead, stale air rushing past their shell. With every step they bounded forward, the Mothwing Cloak fluttering behind them. Their form bled into Void to slip through obstacles or round corners, only to reform moments later. The nameless Soul Twister couldn’t keep their lead; Ghost was gaining. As he looked behind him, Ghost dashing again, closing the gap between them another few inches, Ghost detected a twang of apprehension flash in his eyes.

Ancient bookshelves and priceless tablets levitated in the air and flung themselves at Ghost, propelled by the Soul Twister’s eldritch magic. They were minor concerns. Ghost briefly pulsed with a silvery glow as they built up energy, and they cleaved clean through the projectiles, the pure nail striking with incredible force, elongated with Soul. The nailmasters had taught Ghost well. The Soul Twister continued to toss objects at Ghost, but they either met their end on the vessel’s nail or crashed to the ground as Ghost phased through them. Teleporting around hard turns only bought him a moment’s respite, as Ghost just immediately pushed off the wall when they made contact and continued their mad chase. He took a detour through a chamber with some floating platforms, suspended by magic, thinking that would let him gain some distance. Although he bypassed the hazard easily, it didn’t delay Ghost in the slightest. Leaping from platform to platform, dashing as often as they could, even jumping off of the edges of the airborne structures to save even the slightest bit of time.

The Soul Twister was panting. He looked behind him and saw Ghost effortlessly slice through a massive, wall-to-wall bookshelf. The fleeing scholar’s eyes widened and he strained, Focusing, trying to fly just a little faster. Otherwise, he wasn’t sure if he would reach the big surprise before the King was able to slice _him _in half! This was going to be more difficult than he had thought.

. . .

Hollow wandered aimlessly through the city streets. They had no idea what to do with their time, now that they weren’t with Ghost. They could feel their sibling’s presence, but Ghost was dedicating all of their mental energy to the task at hand. They didn’t want anything to pass them by. Hollow understood that, but it didn’t make their tantalizing closeness any better than _not close enough. _Maybe if Hollow followed their movements they’d be able to… No, what were they thinking? Ghost had told them to “watch the city”. That meant making sure that everything was okay while they were gone.

One of their options would be to patrol around. The Sentinels could always use the help. That was a potential course of action. There was always Lurien’s tower as well—they hadn’t gotten rid of his telescope, so Hollow could just watch the city like that? Then again, now that they thought about it, imagining themselves, in all of their massiveness, peering through the telescope seemed a bit silly. They would definitely look pretty strange. Yeah, it might be best to not do that.

So they would continue to walk around and look at things. “Keep the peace.” Right… That was at _least_ half a step up from doing absolutely nothing. Hollow bobbed their head from side to side. They wanted to be out there with Ghost actually _solving _problems, not sitting on them like a beast on her eggs. Problem-eggs didn’t hatch into cute little animals, but horrible, preventable calamities. That was why they had been so restless while the investigation was moving slowly. They had seen the poisonous fruit reaped from the seeds sown of inaction and indolence. The thought of something like the Infection happening once more… A phantom heat pulsed from the crack in their shell and Hollow shook their head violently to rid themselves of the passing illusion. It mostly worked.

What would Hornet do? Did she even worry about things like this? Probably not. Even though Hornet was technically their little sister—emphasis on the little—there was still so much they could learn from her. She was so strong, and independent, and always knew what to do. She was nothing like Hollow. Even with just those three qualities, Hollow seemed an antithesis to her. They were a failed vessel, eternally shadowing their father and sibling, and they were hopelessly lost when it came to navigating anything that didn’t involve extreme violence or suppressing one’s emotions. Hollow hoped Hornet was doing alright. They missed her. She hadn’t come around since her big fight with that annoying sentient puddle of goop Ghost sadly still insisted on keeping around. Maybe… they could go visit her?

…No, that was entirely out of the question.

Hollow sighed. They had really gotten carried away with their introspection. They weren’t being attentive enough, they thought to themselves as they neatly sidestepped a sign that was in their path. Out of passing curiosity, they decided to glance down and look at what it said.

“Pleasure house, just two levels up!” It read, painted in an almost disgustingly extravagant font in the most ugly shade of faded pink Hollow had ever seen. The sign was incredibly old, its continued structural integrity probably only thanks to the single-minded diligence of the omnipresent menderbugs. This was probably a relic from the time before their Sealing. It was a wonder it hadn’t been washed away.

Hollow vaguely remembered the pleasure house. Ghost, they thought, had shown it to them sometime during the two’s long jaunt through the City of Tears not too long after Hollow had emerged from the Black Egg Temple. There was a hot spring there, and an old stage adorned with wilted flowers and aged drapes. There had been something in there that Ghost had wanted to show them, but whatever it was, Hollow wasn’t able to see whatever they did. Ghost had been disappointed, but got over it quickly. They think it had something to do with the songstress that used to sing there? Hollow had never personally attended any of her shows, but recordings of the butterfly were popular even in the White Palace. What was her name again? Marissa? That sounded right. Supposedly, her voice was incredibly soothing. Maybe they could find some old records of her… Ghost would like that. They needed it, too. If Hollow couldn’t be with Ghost to protect them in person, the least they could do is try and do something for them.

Ghost had been so distant recently. They didn’t think Hollow had noticed, but they had. It was impossible not to, though they hid it well. Their burden was weighing on them heavily, and they were straining under the pressure. Hollow felt their shade churn and twist at the thought of Ghost being in so much distress—it hurt them to think about it. The crack in their shell ached again. Their poor sibling, feeling like they had the weight of the whole kingdom on their shoulders… Not to mention whatever had happened in the Abyss. There was more to that than Ghost was letting on, Hollow thought. Truthfully, they wanted so ardently for Ghost to open up to them, but every time Hollow tried to initiate something, Ghost would pull away. They wanted to take care of Ghost; they wanted the best for them, and it was killing them seeing their sibling so wound up and stressed out. It was settled, then. They had to find something here to help calm Ghost’s nerves. A gift could help cheer them up! Yes, that was an excellent idea! Now they could do something for Ghost that wasn’t just stalking them around as a glorified fountain statue.

Maybe they could even find a gift for Hornet, too. That would be nice…

Hollow shook themselves out of their reverie and ascended to the entrance of the pleasure house. They stooped to fit in the doorway and the elevator and promptly began the ride up. As they got closer to the top of the pleasure house, Hollow noticed a subtle, but steady, increase in temperature, until the air was pleasantly warm. That was right—this place had a built-in heating system from all the piping necessary to keep the hot spring running. At last the elevator reached its destination: the stage. It was just as Hollow remembered it from when Ghost had brought them here: the massive number of dead flowers surrounding the stage like water around a tiny island. Dusty, worn-out seats stretched out from the stage, ascending as they got further back. It was a tiny amphitheater. Tiny drops from leaks in the ceiling from either the rain or the hot spring dripped from above, their soft pitter-patter breaking up the silence of the abandoned concert hall. Hollow exited the elevator and rose back up to their full height, which is to say they returned to a normal degree of slouch.

Quietly, almost reverently, Hollow poked through the area searching for anything of note. They shuffled through the seats, but the only thing they could find there were scraps of what used to be food, some pamphlets describing a program of entertainment for an average night at the pleasure house, loose geo, and other discarded nick-nacks that were entirely worthless to them. Seeing there was nothing to be gained from the seating area, Hollow moved onto the stage. Carefully stepping over the flowers, they made their way onto the raised platform, the ancient wood creaking in protest of their weight.

Once they were situated on the stage, Hollow took a moment to look out on the seating area in front of them. So many chairs… would Marissa have seen all these seats packed with bugs, all eyes on her? How ghastly! Having that many staring at them at the same time would be an awful experience, Hollow decided. Turning away from the front of the stage, Hollow addressed the gigantic pile of flowers and bouquets that took up a large portion of the stage. Perhaps something was buried under them? Well, only one way to find out. But as they were about to go start excavating the pile of flowers, something caught their eye. It was so small they had nearly stepped on it, but there was no mistaking it. Hollow knelt down and solemnly regarded the single, pale, silvery flower placed delicately in the center of the stage, where the spotlight would have fallen. It was not only beautiful, but recently placed, and Hollow had a good hunch about who did it. Standing back up again, they stepped over the delicate flower and stood in front of the giant mound of decidedly less delicate flowers.

Hollow slowly and methodically began to disassemble the tangle of deceased plant life that had accumulated on the stage. They were taking great care not to damage them in any way. Even though they were dead, they had originally been placed there for a reason. Whether it was for memorial purposes, for honoring their recipient, displays of affection, or any other thing one might give flowers for, it would be disrespectful of Hollow to tamper with it any more than they were already doing. They were there painstakingly removing each flower or bouquet from its place in the pile for however long it took for them to totally lose track of time before finally beginning to see what was buried under all of that dead plant matter. There _was_ something underneath it after all! And as Hollow moved the last of the flowers away, completely unearthing it, they could see it was in mint condition. Before them was a massive grand piano, mostly free of dust and water damage thanks to the protective barrier of the flowers. Hollow stared at the piano in disbelief at their luck. It was beautiful.

Losing themselves staring at the piano, Hollow slowly reached out their hand to the keys, cautiously, as if it might burn them. Their fingers brushed against the surface of the keyboard, the thin layer of dust draped over the keys clinging to their fingertips. Glancing around like a criminal before committing an illicit activity, they began to apply some pressure on a key. Once they were certain nobody was within earshot, they pressed down on the key. A sonorous note rung out from the piano, hanging in the air like the city’s tears suspended mid-fall. Middle C. How long had it been since they’d heard the sound of a piano? How long since this stage had seen it used? The sound bounced off the walls of the amphitheater, as they were perfectly designed to provide the best acoustics. Hollow shuddered. Even a single note was enough to bring the memories flooding back…

_“__Take a seat, vessel.” _ _The Hollow Knight obeyed, _ _clambering up and_ _ robotically easing themselves down into the white wooden bench in front of the strange object the King had led them towards._ _ The Pale King began to pace behind them as he talked, as was his custom._

_ “In order to facilitate the continual improvement of your fine-motor skills throughout your developmental process, which will be necessary for spellcasting, among other things, you will practice on this instrument for the foreseeable future. Dryya will be your teacher. You will achieve perfection in the exercises she places before you. You will receive her instruction once a week to ensure that you maintain these skills, and biweekly as needed every time you molt, so that you can adjust to your new body.” The Pale King paused behind the Pure Vessel, almost thinking to ask them if they understood, but he stopped himself. Of course they didn’t understand; one needed a mind to understand. All that mattered was that they did what they were ordered to. _

_ “Dryya, step forward,” The Pale King said, addressing the knight who had been standing some distance away from the two._

_ “__I am here, your_ _ majesty,” she said, quickly closing the gap between them and snapping to attention._

_ “I trust __the vessel will do well in your capable hands. Ensure that what you teach it pertains _only _to the mechanical skills necessary to operate a piano. I will not have them tarnished by any frivolous musical ideals. Do you understand?”_

_ “Yes, your majesty,” Dryya responded, bowing sharply._

_ “Good. I take my leave, then.” With a small fluttering of his cloak, the Pale King turned and began striding out of the room. He lurched to a stop after several seconds, but hid that he did, shook himself, and continued._

_ “Damn it,” he muttered as soon as he had left the room, glaring with annoyance down at the ground. He had called it a “they” again._

_ Meanwhile, Dryya had stood the Pure Vessel back up again and was now sitting on the bench herself, back straight as a board, resting on the edge of the seat. _

_ “This is the proper form you will _ _use when sitting down to play this instrument. There is a knob on the side to adjust the height of the bench. No matter what you do, your legs are going to be dangling, but we won’t be doing pedals for a while so it doesn’t matter.” The Pure Vessel watched her as she spoke, standing still next to the piano. _

_ “We will begin with scales and the basics of reading music. Come closer, vessel,” she said, beckoning to them. They obeyed, resisting the fleeting urge to lean in closer. This was the first time they had been this close to a piano. The Pure Vessel had seen these contraptions before, but the Pale King always quickly ushered them away when they were within earshot. It was well that he did, and the Pure Vessel was grateful for it; the noises they created stirred things within the small vessel, and made it that much harder to quash those seditious, impure urges. Even being near one now was cause for apprehension in the vessel, though they fought that down as well. _

Do not think. Do not feel, _they thought to themselves, aware that even such mantras were blemishes on their purity, and hating themselves for it. __Their shade shuddered and curled, warring against itself as the stains on the Pure Vessel’s purity shouted out their existence for only them to hear. How they disgusted themselves. The dark thoughts they knew all too well from many nights alone bubbled to the surface once again. If only they could turn their nail on themselves, cut into their carapace, and tear out those impurities like the cancer they were! Their carapace crawled. _

_ Dryya kept droning on, and the Pure Vessel kept listening. She would speak, demonstrate what she wanted from it and have the vessel try for itself. It obeyed with the same robotic despondency as was expected of them. The lesson continued in such a manner, Dryya oblivious to the storm of self-hatred and shame raging in her student’s head. _ _The Pure Vessel had plenty of practice masking their inner turmoil. If they had ever permitted themselves to think in such un-hollow terms, they might have called it their greatest skill. And so despite their overwhelming desire to curl up and shrivel away, the Pure Vessel continued under Dryya’s tutelage, learning despite the constant buzz of shame that _ _consumed_ _ their inner world. _

Their hand fell from the keyboard and hung limp at their side. Dryya had been a strict, but effective teacher. Even with one hand, they were still sure they could coax something pleasant sounding from the ancient instrument. Yet, just looking at the piano made their shade churn. The air was thick with memories, and they confused Hollow’s vision. Wait, no, those were tears. They wiped the tears away, smearing Void all over their shell, but the slick dark globs of liquid kept welling up in their eye sockets and dripping down, staining their cheeks with streaks of black. Why were they crying?! Hollow took several steps back and leaned against the wall. A simple instrument shouldn’t have caused such emotions to burst forth within them. All the same, their tears dripped to the floor below in a Void-made parody of the sheets of rain outside.

They wanted to play it, but they didn’t—they _couldn’t._ Hollow would have left, but they still lacked a gift for Ghost. Steeling their nerves, they worked through the slowly abating tears, continuing their search through the pleasure house for something suitable. They were grateful for the monotony of the activity, because it meant they didn’t need to think too hard about anything, and they could instead dedicate their efforts to calming their emotions. Having lots of practice being empty was a big help sometimes.

In time, Hollow’s efforts were rewarded. They unearthed a relatively pristine record from the remains of a gift shop, and Marissa’s likeness was printed on the record’s protective sleeve in full color. Sure, it was faded and torn, but Ghost wouldn’t mind. It wasn’t like scavenging through the city would ever yield anything that didn’t at least qualify as “gently used”, to put it lightly. Hollow definitely fit into the more worn-down category. If they were a toy or some sort of clothing item, they wouldn’t even donate themselves to charity. No self-respecting charity would accept a donation as broken as Hollow. They were like a skinned stuffed animal.

Heh. Jokes. They were funny.

Their job wasn’t over, though. They had to find something for Hornet, too. However, she didn’t seem the type to enjoy the kinds of items one could find in the pleasure house. Hollow looked up at the gaudy pink decorations, wondering what Hornet might like. Well, no use sticking around here. Hollow swung around and made to leave when the answer hit them in the face—literally. One of the ribbons adorning the walls had come undone and was dangling on the ground. Hollow reflexively dashed back, hand flying to their nail, anticipating an attack. Once they realized there weren’t any infected bugs about to leap out and strike them, they let their guard down, feeling a bit foolish and embarrassed for responding so poorly to a ribbon. It _had _been soft though.

Soft… Wait a minute. Of course! How could they have been so stupid? They would get Hornet some thread! Hornet loved weaving; it was one of her main hobbies! Surely there would still be a tailor’s shop or a seamstress’s store somewhere in the city, right? There had to be! They would find it! Hollow quickly wrapped up Ghost’s present in some discarded newspaper (for protection as well as concealment) and made their way over to the entrance. Hollow felt a lightness in their chest as they quickly ducked into the elevator and began descending. It was happiness, but of a different kind than the one they normally experienced, being with their siblings. It was a mixture of excitement and anticipation. They couldn’t wait to see their siblings when the two of them received their gifts!

. . .

Blue was standing in vigil, looking out from the Watcher’s Tower, gazing out into the rain. They were restless. Ever since their encounter with Millibelle, they had found themselves glancing over their shoulder at regular intervals, jumping at unknown noises, and eyeing the shadows suspiciously. They were, ashamedly, nervous. They’d thought that coming up here and taking a break would have helped but if anything it made it worse. The Sentinels’ gathering chamber was entirely abandoned; Blue was the only one present. They had ordered all the rest to take up defensive posts around the city. It wasn’t ideal, but they couldn’t afford to take any chances. They were spread thin, even with every single Sentinel deployed, especially with the King’s strike force still Wyrm-knows-where. Blue didn’t like it at all.

They ran through scenarios in their head. What would they do if they needed to evacuate? What if the King failed? What if the King was off chasing a red herring and the real danger was using this opportunity to attack the city? What if, what if, what if? Blue’s mind buzzed with ideas like the Hive buzzed with bees. It was exhausting. Blue leaned against the window, their mask despondently clunking against it.

_Ugh, _they thought, shoulders sagging. It was no use—whatever they did, they were going to feel terrible until all of this was over.

_Do not think. Do not feel._

They hoped Yvera and Laia were okay. Blue wanted so badly to check up on them, but they had to hold down the fort and ensure that everything was coordinated. They really couldn’t win, huh?

“Pardon the intrusion, Captain, but is this spot taken?” Blue looked over to the doorway. It was the Collector. _Great._ Just when they thought their day couldn’t get any worse.

_No,_ Blue answered.

“Oh, joy!” The Collector either didn’t detect the annoyance in Blue’s tone or chose to ignore it, bouncing up to them and standing at their side. Blue silently scowled. Couldn’t the Collector have gotten their own spot to sit around and brood? So inconsiderate.

“You know, you don’t have to stand around here moping. I can take care of this place well enough.” Blue glanced up at their unwelcome conversation partner, who was smiling down at them with their eyes.

_I don’t know how you can be happy at a time like this, _Blue said, changing the subject. The Collector made some sort of amused noise and leaned on the window.

“What cause have I to not be joyful?” They asked. Blue turned to face the Collector, glaring up at them with all the force their expressionless face could muster.

_People are dying! The King isn’t with us! _ _Things are going horribly and we can’t do anything about it!_

“Isn’t that all the more reason to keep our good spirits? If we can’t do anything about what’s happening, then I say we look to our own well-being! Just because everything on the outside is terrible doesn’t mean everything inside has to reflect that.” Blue bristled.

_It’s the principle of the thing. I can’t make merry in good conscience while the bugs I swore to protect are in danger._

“There is always danger, Captain. You condemn yourself to a life of misery with that kind of thinking.”

_It is better that I be miserable if the ones I..._

Blue’s mental transmission halted as they corrected themselves.

_ ...__WE cherish are kept safe. _The Collector’s eyes raised and they crossed their arms, beginning to radiate a smug aura.

“So that’s it, eh? You’ve gotten attached, haven’t you!” Blue would’ve snarled if they had the voice for it.

_Shut up._ The Collector laughed their irritating hyena laugh and bent over, getting right into Blue’s face. Placing a hand on Blue’s head so they couldn’t squirm away, the Collector said,

“Why don’t you go and spend some time with them? I’m sure they must be nervous, seeing all these Sentinels about. It seems like you could use it, too. You aren’t doing any good to anybody cooped up in here wallowing in self-pity. Your unhappiness sticks to you like a foul odor. If you really want to serve your King, you’ll see to it that you’re making decisions in the best mind possible.” Blue stared back at the Collector, looking as if they were considering their words. But then, shaking their head and swatting away the Collector’s hand, they took a step away.

_Don’t seduce me to __negligence and desertion in this city’s time of crisis! I’ll not have it!_ They mentally shouted, angrily jabbing their finger at the Collector, who only laughed.

“Oh please, Captain,” they purred, looking down at Blue like a pitying parent might regard a misguided youth, “the only desertion you’re participating in is the abandonment of those who care about you.”

_Cease your patronizing! I’ll not be lectured by you! Let’s not forget who our King placed in charge of the city’s affairs while they are away!_

“Oh, who? Surely you’re speaking of the Hollow Knight?” Blue recoiled back with indigence.

_Me!_

“Captain, you are merely commander of the Sentinels. Don’t make the mistake of believing you hold more power than you do.” Blue’s shade fizzled angrily as Blue glared nails at the Collector.

_The Hollow Knight may be whom the King has designated to rule in their stead, but as you say, I am still the leader of the Sentinels. I know what I am doing. Do not presume to __think you’d know better than me in such matters. If it were up to you, all of our citizens would be placed in jars! _The Collector held up a finger.

“Don’t mention jars to me,” They hissed bitterly. “I am not trying to insinuate that you don’t know how to do your job. I’m just saying that standing around worrying will help _nobody, _and that it would be better if you did something to calm your nerves, because your _paranoia_ will impair your judgment!”

_There you go again! _Blue threw up their hands and stalked away, burning with irritation.

“I’m only trying to help—“

_Oh, get off your Wyrm-damned high stag!_ Blue turned on their heel and marched up to the Collector, their gaze unwavering, fixed directly on those white saucer eyes.

_I, and everyone else, am sick and tired of your unending condescension! You always act like you’re the smartest one in the room, and whenever the King is distracted or absent you take it upon yourself to control and mercilessly criticize everyone else! Do you even listen to the shit that comes out of your mouth half the time? _ _Just because the King went and dragged you out of the Sea themselves doesn’t make you any better than the rest of us! _ _I should know—I was there!_ _ You have NO right to _ _swagger about_ _ like a self-absorbed husk tearing down everyone you think is in the wrong! The authority of your words stems not from you, but from their origin with the King! _ _ **You** _ _ would do well to remember _ _ **that!** _

Silence hung in the air like a broken chandelier as the two Void beings stared each other down like a pair of loaded guns. Neither one wanted to be the first to break eye contact. That would betray weakness. For what seemed like eternity the pair kept their eyes locked, both of them seething. Each could tell just how furious the other was, but neither dared add more fuel to the fire. However, even though the vessel opposing them wasn’t hollow, the Collector broke first—for vessels were patient and had a natural aptitude for standing their ground. The Collector straightened up and looked down at Blue, their eyes narrowed.

“My offer still stands. I will see you around. Let us continue to serve our King in whatever fashion is best,” said the Collector, their voice lacking some of their distinctive gaiety.

_Indeed,_ tersely responded the Sentinel captain, turning away and going back to gazing out the window. The Collector watched them for several moments more before turning on their heel and stomping out. Blue payed them no heed, watching the rain, still unable to shake that gnawing dread.

. . .

Hollow splashed through the city streets, cradling two small parcels underneath their cloak. One, large, thin, and square, contained the record they had found for Ghost. Within the other, a small box, rested the only spool of thread that Hollow could find. It wasn’t brand new; there was about half of it missing, but there wasn’t a better one for Hollow to give instead. Besides, they liked the color, and they hoped Hornet did as well. The old knight had raided a small department store to find the wrapping paper they needed, and after much toil (and a rather embarrassing amount of ruined wrapping paper), they had finally been able to achieve a passable wrap. It was difficult wrapping the presents with only one arm, but they had managed.

Trudging up to the tower and skirting inside, Hollow began ascending the steps leading to the vessels’ living quarters. They figured they would leave Ghost’s present either in their room or the throne room, since those were the two most likely places their sibling would go once they got back. After some consideration, Hollow decided to leave it in their room, since Ghost would probably want to take a nap or just rest as soon as they got back. Hornet’s gift they decided to keep on their person, since they didn’t know when next they would see her.

Hollow “borrowed” a table from another room and brought it into the room they and Ghost shared, and placed Ghost’s gift on the table. The table was in the middle of the room, impossible to miss. Ghost would come in and immediately see it, and be overjoyed! That was the plan, at least. It was simple, sure, but the best plans were always simple—it made them hard to mess up. Looking over their handiwork, Hollow was pleased. They had done something nice for their siblings. Ghost and Hornet needed it. Hopefully, Hollow could use these two items as a way of healing the rift that had formed between their two siblings. That would be the real victory.

All right, what now?

Reaching out with their mind, Hollow could sense the presence of two familiar Void beings in the tower. One was the Collector in their office, and the other was Captain Blue, currently making their way downstairs. Maybe they could ask the Captain and see if there was anything they could do to help out? Yeah, that seemed like a good idea. Hollow did one last once-over of the room, checking to see if everything was in place and it was all how they wanted it, and it was. Satisfied with their work, Hollow exited the room and began briskly descending the tower to catch up with the captain.

Hollow managed to reach them as they were just crossing the threshold.

_**Captain, **_they greeted, coming up behind them. Blue quickly spun around (a bit too quickly, the Captain thought, kicking themselves for it) and bowed in greeting to the Hollow Knight.

_Hollow Knight, _Blue said, standing up straight again, _what do you need?_ (Just don’t act suspicious. Don’t be suspicious! You weren’t leaving the Tower in the hands of the Collector. You weren’t! You were just checking the perimiter!)

_**Any place needs help? **_Hollow asked, looming over Blue. _**Not much to do. Any jobs?**_

_Not really, sir. We’re spread thin, but we’ll manage. Don’t worry. The situation is well under control. It would be easier if the bugs were closer together, but beggars can’t be choosers, right?_ Blue thought that hopefully some humor would defuse the situation, but it didn’t seem to affect the Hollow Knight. (Or maybe it did, and they just didn’t show it.)

_**Right,**_ the other vessel finally answered, not giving away that they didn’t quite understand the idiom. (Oh, no. The Hollow Knight hesitated! They did something wrong! They’d surely tell the King and then they’d lose their job and the King might even take them and fling them back into the Abyss and they’d be stuck there forever and—)

_**So nothing to do but **__**wait**__**?**_ Blue nodded sadly.

_I’m afraid so._ The Hollow Knight stood there in contemplative silence as opposed to their normal silence.

_**Will stay here then. Wait outside for sibling, **_they said.

_That sounds like a good idea. _

_**You can go do what you were doing.**_ Blue had to stop themselves from flinching.

_I was just going for a brief perimeter check. _

_**Don’t lie,**_ Hollow said bluntly, but without malice or anger. Somehow, that made Blue feel worse. _**Were obviously going away. Could just about smell the fear and apprehension, but stress and anxiety too. It is well; a respite is earned.**_

Blue would have been blushing from embarrassment if they could. Their shade compressed and made itself small as they bowed their head to the Hollow Knight.

_Thank you, _they said. The Hollow Knight didn’t respond, instead taking up a rigid guarding position in front of the door, nail pointing downwards and head held high. Blue knew that was their cue to leave, so they did so promptly, and began making their way to Yvera’s street. They’d just tell the Sentinel they had already posted there to go reinforce one of the more heavily populated residential areas.

Blue’s head snapped to the right as they heard something scrape across the ground, cutting through the rain. Their hand snapped to their nail and—oh. It was only a maskfly. Sighing, Blue dragged their eyes back to the path ahead and kept walking.

. . .

The allure of grandeur was what had compelled him initially, but now the Soul Twister’s harried flight was motivated by terror. He hurled himself through the narrow, crowded corridors of the Soul Sanctum, trying to just outpace his pursuers just a moment longer. If only he hadn’t been discovered! Confounding fate! How it loved to rip away his chances to become more than what he had remained as for so long. It turned victories into failures and defeats into successes. If he could not actualize his desires perfectly, then he would rage against this tortured world and claim what he deserved from the jaws of seeming defeat!

“I will not be denied!” He cried, bursting through the last doorway and zooming down and out, into the rain. The peak of the Soul Sanctum. Cleansing waters from above splattered against his face and cloak as he leaned back, drinking in the burning chill. Purification. Ablution. Preparation. It was now or never. Right on cue, Ghost landed on the floor of the inner area and stepped out into the rain, nail held at their side. The Soul Twister called out to them as they advanced, and they halted.

“Stay your blade, o Void. I will run no further,” he announced, raising his voice to be heard over the rain. Ghost stayed there, staring up at the Soul Twister. They recognized this arena, and it gave them pause. This was where they had fought the Soul Master. Keeping their nail at the ready, they prepared themselves for anything. The large, rectangular space was surrounded by ornate, metal fences. On one side, the wall of the cavern curved ever upwards, and on their side was the corridor that led to the rest of the Soul Sanctum. The massive glass floor remained shattered from when the Soul Master had broken it during their battle.

“My colleagues did not understand me. They ridiculed me, called me crazy. It is satisfying to truly prove them wrong, even if they are not alive to see it. Again, thank you.” The Soul Twister was floating far off the ground, away from the reach of Ghost’s nail. They’d probably be able to get him with an abyss shriek though. They’d have to jump up, then dash…

“Then again, perhaps we will meet in whatever afterlife awaits us. I could certainly tell them ‘I told you so’, but they’d probably just laugh in my face… or cower.” The Soul Twister shifted his arm, his cloak pulling away to reveal an ornate knife, which he drew and fiddled with while he talked. Ghost kept a wary eye on the weapon.

“They did a lot of cowering, which was annoying, because it made my job harder. In the end, I got to all of them, but it wasn’t easy. Poor little Kuerim… Nobody suspected that runt Kuerim to do anything… Damn fools, the whole lot.” Ghost looked back and saw the Sentinels dropping one by one into the room behind them, and ordered them to stay back. The Soul Twister laughed suddenly, sharp and barking.

“They didn’t even know genius when it was standing right in front of them! That’s okay, though. Their usefulness does not rely on their perceptive abilities.” Actually, a great slash might be quicker and cleaner. They could dash forward and immediately leap up and probably bisect him clean through.

“But what am I saying? I have a ritual to complete. Please, o you of Void, bear witness to my unparalleled intellect!” With a flourish, the Soul Twister spun the knife around, gripped it tightly with both hands, and plunged it into his neck.

Blood and raindrops dripped in equal parts from the searing wound as the Soul Twister felt the wind knocked out of him. A strangled, gurgling cry escaped his lips as tears welled up in his eyes. It _hurt. _It hurt but he couldn’t stop. He had to finish this. The King was shocked for the moment, but they quickly recovered and began to dash forward, their body melting into Void. Haltingly, agonizingly, the Soul Twister dragged the knife through his neck, each lurch forward sending new spasms of pain flashing through his body. Every fiber of his being shrieked at him to stop, but he fought it down like a bulwark of soldiers desperately holding the line against a tide of enemies. Hot, sticky blood spewed from his unseamed neck, mixing with the rainwater and dripping into the pit below. Flesh and arteries split apart as the blade sliced through his neck, every inch burning with pain.

_“__We shall become a god,”_ he gurgled. Ghost had leaped up in front of him now, glowing with stored-up energy. They were about to unleash a nail art. The Soul Twister closed his eyes as he finally cut clean through his neck, already feeling his magic fading. He was ready. His work was complete. He had won.

Ghost’s great slash neatly split the Soul Twister in half, and gravity did the rest. Organs spilling free, the two halves of the Soul Twister’s body fell into the pit below, and Ghost landed on the edge. At last, Ghost looked down into the pit. They had been unable to see into it properly from their former position, due to their size. Now that they were there on the edge, they had a perfect view to take in its contents.

A feeling not unlike bile rising up in one’s throat took hold of Ghost immediately, and their shade viscerally recoiled away, pressing up against the back of Ghost’s shell. Despite their lack of a stomach, a wave of nausea floored Ghost, and they stumbled back, slipping and falling to the ground. The Sentinels were upon them immediately, surrounding them and helping Ghost to their feet. Yet, as soon as they released their King, they fell to the ground again, dropping to their hands and knees and shaking. Ghost’s head hung low, their horns scraping against the ground, as they retched. They were not vomiting up the contents of their stomach, but physically reacting to the overwhelming revulsion of their shade as it spasmed and convulsed. Their mind buzzed with fearful inquiries from the Sentinels surrounding them and they dismissed them all. It was like a nightmare, but they couldn’t wake up.

They were back in the Abyss again. They were surrounded by their dead siblings. Memories and feelings blinked in an out of existence like a fever dream. Shells. Void. Bodies. Dead. The crawling feeling underneath their carapace wouldn’t go away. Ghost retched again, their world a swirling vortex of images to terrible to be forgotten. Siblings. Bugs. The world was a grave and they were at the center. Rolling over onto their back, they saw mounds of broken shells rising up around them instead of rock walls, only for that vision to shift and churn and swirl and mix together into something unrecognizable.

_ **Do not look into the pit,** _ they ordered in a brief moment of clarity. The other Sentinels obeyed, though curiosity burned in their minds. Slowly, the illusions fell from their view, and Ghost was themselves again. Shakily bringing themselves to their feet, they took several deep breaths and steeled their nerves. Stepping forward once again, Ghost positioned themselves at the edge of the pit. Then, slowly, deliberately, they inclined their head downwards, digesting the grotesque totality of what filled it.

A writhing morass of flesh took up the space within the pit, ever-moving, churning, and undulating with a sickening un-life. It had no uniformity; every part of it was a unique slice of monstrous hideousness. Its color was a disgusting shade of pink, the same as the Mistakes and Follies which swarmed listlessly through the Soul Sanctum. If Ghost had the nose to smell it, the scent would’ve reminded one of rotting meat and the other eye-watering odors associated with the decay of organic matter. Its texture looked wet, slick, and slimy. The constant rain imparted it with a glossy sheen as puddles formed on its uneven surface, which seemed like one would be able to push through with relative ease, whereupon they would find their probing limb engulfed in a sensation akin to rice pudding or heavily curdled milk. Limbs and body parts stuck out of the flesh mound like branches, bent at odd angles. As their vision focused on individual sections of flesh, Ghost saw more: eyes, mouths, bits of shell, _faces._ This cursed pit was full of bugs, melted together into one mountainous amalgamate of meat. One small section of movement out of the entire sight caught their eye. It was Millibelle. She was lying on her side, most of her body melded with the rest. She turned her head upwards as much as she could, since about half of her face had been fused into the bodies below her. The flesh stretched as her one eye remaining fixed itself on Ghost.

_ “Geo,” _ she mouthed. Ghost stared, shocked still, before realizing that there was even more. As they surveyed the titanic glob of organic sludge, they saw more that they recognized: the outline of a gruz mother; half of an oblobble; the distinctive shape of husk guards; other soul twisters. This wasn’t just any pile of flesh—it was a living tapestry of everything they’d killed. How many bodies had the Soul Twister collected?! How long had this been going on? How had he even gotten them here? Looking down, directly below the lip of the ledge they were standing on, they saw the two parts of the Soul Twister they had killed. They watched as before their eyes, his flesh began to liquefy and melt, fusing into the mess of meat along with everything else inside of it.

So this was what the mad bug had been raving about to Ghost. This was what he had wanted them to see. It was a cruel trick, Ghost thought. Had he wanted to remind them of the death they’d wrought? The trail of bodies they left in their wake as they carved through Hallownest like a choice roast, picking away at its then-rotting carcass like a vulture searching for the best morsels it contained? Ghost shook their head. No, that couldn’t be it. It had something to do with their ascension at Godhome’s peak. They weren’t stupid; that was the only thing the Soul Twister could have been talking about. However, they failed to see how _this _related at all to the Void, and their apotheosis.

...Unless—

The ground began to shake. Ghost and the Sentinels snapped into battle stances, nails ready to strike. Before their eyes, a pillar of flesh shot up out of the pit, similar in girth to a great husk sentry, and the Sentinels got their first glimpse of what lurked within. The tip of the pillar split apart into five distinct parts and slammed back down onto the roof, sending tremors through the building. Ghost realized it was a _hand._ A second pillar—arm—rose up and gripped the edge of the pit, pulling up the rest of the flesh. Despite the horrific spectacle, the vessels did not balk, standing their ground as the meat began to morph into a distinctly person-shaped form. Its shape resolved into a torso, with a stumpy head sticking up above the shoulders, with two blank and dead eyes rolling into view as a mouth split apart into existence. A cacophony of moaning and frenzied cries accompanied its movement as the monster sat upright. Mouths everywhere that could reach the air jabbered and gibbered and spewed nonsensical declarations of insanity, while eyes and limbs spun in their sockets and grasped in futility at nothing.

Ghost could see now the true meaning of the Soul Twister’s words, and understood the abomination he had created. This was a single being, imperfectly born from the discrete lives of countless bugs. It was a failing imitation of that perfect unity of the Void that Ghost had experienced at the zenith of their ascension. Its bastardized intercourse was a dark mirror held up to Ghost that reflected everything they feared about their godhood, and Ghost felt their limbs go slack. The countless voices, the writhing bodies—not only had the Soul Twister attempted a recreation of Ghost’s worst nightmare, but in his hubris, created something far worse. Ghost’s shade screamed, but there was nothing to hear. The monster’s two massive eyes, easily just as large as Ghost or larger, swiveled down to lock themselves on the ascended vessel.

The Great Mistake reared its ugly head and roared its challenge to the God of Gods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember writing some of the later scenes and thinking to myself, "yeah, this is gonna bump it up to M." If not this chapter, then definitely next one. We're hitting the deep end now, and it's getting real. I hope I did enough justice to what I've been building up to for so long. Y'all deserve some payoff. 
> 
> I hope you all are doing well. I know it seems right now like the whole world is falling apart (well, here in America at least), so I hope that my work can, in its own way, provide an escape from the constant deluge of things going wrong. Please take care of yourselves, and do what you can to keep yourselves and others safe. 
> 
> I was really excited to write this chapter. The reveal was something I've been going over in my head for a while now, and the inspiration for Hollow's main section hit me one night and I was like "yES". I just really adore the Hollow Knight. They're a precious baby (who is also a bona fide badass) and I love them. 
> 
> In other news, as of this chapter, this fic has (I'm pretty sure) surpassed the actual literal book I'm (supposed to be but am not) writing in wordcount. I'm not quite sure whether to be ashamed or proud. Oh, well. I dug this hole and now I have to lie in it.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. Your continual support for this fic is always astonishing to me.


	8. Conflux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a city bleeds, gods strive against one another, and vessels suffer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 9/23/2020: Fixed minor typos and did minor edits to make the writing flow better

“Mother, who am I?” The Gendered Child was sitting, her back leaning against the stone plinth on which her mother once had rested.

“It is a silly question to ask; I know who I am. The distinctiveness and insurmountable force of my character announces the wholeness of my personage, and I know fully the truth of my begats. I named myself Hornet, and I proudly avow the blood I inherited from you. I know myself from my actions, my desires, and my thoughts, the latter two of which only I can know. I am uniquely qualified to pass judgment on my own identity.

“So then why do I come to you and ask?” Hornet’s head drooped, her body curling up further.

“I assume you would have a correct intuition as to the underlying cause of my distress, and would say something sharp and to the point, yet caring. ‘Hornet,’ you might say, ‘it is because you are trapped like a bug in a web. You are beholden to your queenship, yet no less to your desires. Thus far, you have chosen to limit yourself to a caricature; you quash the wholeness of your person in the name of monarchical duty and thus unnaturally restrict yourself. You live like a shadow of your former self, and it is tearing you apart.’

“...Ah, but I put too many of my own words into your mouth. You would probably say it more… bluntly and eloquently at the same time than I have the skill to replicate. Or perhaps… you wouldn’t?” Hornet sighed, and her voice dropped to a whisper.

“I confess, I cannot remember…” She sat there for a while, hugging her knees to her thorax.

“It feels like so long ago you were sealed away. A lifetime ago. I was so young when it happened, and the stasis which had preserved Hallownest until recently did not make my memories any more vivid. I do not even remember what you sound like, let alone how you might speak to me. And even then, the platitudes with which one placates a preemptively grieving child are no doubt entirely different from how one would speak to a mature bug.” Hornet held out her hand, splaying out her claws.

“Am I mature? The only possible point of comparison I have are my siblings, and _they_ are far from anything resembling _normal. _Would I have been as tall as Hollow, had the stasis not hit? Will I grow to challenge their impressive stature? Will Ghost?” Hornet tilted her head back, her horns clattering against the stone, and stared up at the dusty silk ceiling.

“But I suppose physicality is only one metric by which one can judge their agedness. If my body does not match my age, my mind surely does. Doesn’t it?” Hornet turned over, tightly gripping the edge of the plinth.

“Am I wise, mother? Have I been a good queen? I feel so _lost,_ all the time! The only things that gives me peace anymore are losing myself in weaving or otherwise working with my hands. My mind is awash with frets and concerns; I am drowning in an ocean only I can see! Every day I wake up in _dread,_ knowing that it will only bring new challenges, new dilemmas that I am obligated to solve! I am unraveling, mother. I am being torn to bits and shreds and I can’t do anything about it.” Her head dipped to meet the stone plinth as Hornet scrunched her eyes closed.

“My weavers come to me in tears, crying about friends, lovers, family, expecting me to bring them solace and reassurance, when I have none to offer. The Old Light made sure that Her reclaimed Hallownest was no place for sweet nothings. My sibling _resents _me—rightfully so—for overstepping my bounds in _their _kingdom. After all, was not that creature their mouthpiece? They said so themselves. The weaver has been such a help, carrying my correspondence to and from Deepnest to the other nations, but keeping up with everything is such a chore. All the plans and legislation and daily mind-numbing administrative tasks are more than enough to occupy a whole army of bureaucrats. I am _one_ bug.

“Am I too cold, mother? A stoic outlook was essential to survive in the hostile wilds of Infected Hallownest. It was my shield against what I had to do. For myself. For Hallownest. A timeless age of living in such a manner creates habits not easily left behind. I am—” Hornet paused. “—was Hallownest’s protector. In order to do my duty, I needed to do away with those more tender sentiments to prevent them from getting in the way. If I hadn’t, then...”

She thought of all those little bodies, pierced through by her needle. Oftentimes, their heads would just roll back as they melted into Void, seeping into the ground below. Others would try to claw and scratch at her in one final, futile attempt at survival. Others still, her least favourites, would reach for her as they died, as if they were begging. Did some base recognition touch their possible minds? What drove them to make those final, silent pleas?

_Please, it hurts!_

_ I don’t want to die..._

_ I’m scared!_

_ Why...?_

Hornet shook her head, reaching up and covering her face.

“They could have been the end of Hallownest. They would’ve released the Infection from Hollow’s failing body. They weren’t strong enough to contain Her. It was _necessary._ I had no choice!”

The admonition left a sour taste in her mouth. She sounded like _Him._

“...It is no different now. The Nest needs a Queen, and I must be there for her. Like you before me, I must persist. The anarchy of a kingdom without a ruler would not be preferable to the poor leadership of a sorely underequipped bug like myself. Without my shepherding, the Nest might have been butchered and torn apart by those who covet its valuables. I suppose that is one thing I have done. Trade, whatever we can support of it, is flourishing. Our riches grow. So long as we can supply the rest of the world with thread and weaves and what have you, we will never want for any worldly substance. Our larders have _so _much honey in them, mother. You have no idea.” Hornet broke a fleeting smile, but as soon as it came it left, Hornet’s skies becoming overcast once more.

“But I can talk as much as I’d like about trade and safety and security and all the other stagshit I regurgitate whenever I try and make peace with the fact that this job is slowly killing me. I feel my life bleeding out of me every day I wake up and have to endure this banal existence. I—

“...No, that would be horrible of me to say. My perfidious mind nearly had me utter something like, ‘it almost makes me long for the time of the Infection.’ What an awful sentiment! I would do well to purge it from my thoughts immediately. A dull life is, objectively, infinitely preferable to one of danger and uncertainty. And now that my mind turns to it, I can verily say that I miss not the deadly perils, but the thrills they gave me. I must find ways to make my new life exciting, rather than allowing myself to treacherously remain in the past, ever fantasizing about its daily adventures. Remembrance of the past is my enemy. I must not allow it to overcome me. Henceforth, whenever I am drawn to that time of inappropriate excitement, I shall set firmly in my mind the evils we left behind, chiefly among those my siblings’ suffering.” Hornet reclined against the plinth, turning her head towards the direction of the stag station at the edge of the Distant Village.

“How are they doing now, I wonder?” She sighed. “Probably the same as always, existing in their state of blissful cohabitation, just happy to be here, and not in some glorified prison cell or buried under their siblings’ bodies. I am envious of them for that. I wish I had the capacity for such constant gratitude. Perhaps then this burden would weigh lighter on my shoulders, and I would not be sitting here right now talking to a slab of rock and any spirits that may or may not be here—like I could see them anyway.” Hornet allowed a few moments of silence as she waited for a response she knew wasn’t going to come. As the silence remained unbroken, and there were no signs that any ethereal beings were listening in on her conversation, Hornet took a moment to reflect on what she had said. Deepnest. Rulership. Siblings. Guilt. The feeling that whatever she was doing, it was never enough. The feeling of constantly balancing on the edge of… something. Perhaps such things had been hammered into her by the countless ages she spent safeguarding a dying world.

“I must make amends with Ghost,” she resolved, standing suddenly. “If not for their own merit, then for my own sanity. It will be one less thing I have to worry about, and I can sleep sounder at night regardless of my success, for either I will have regained their affection and trust, or I will have damaged it beyond hope of recovery, and thus can freely abandon any thoughts of reconciliation and move on.” Her mind made up, Hornet took one last glance at her mother’s former plinth, resting the palm of her hand on its edge.

“Thank you for listening, mother. Talking to you always helps me set my thoughts straight.” There were other, unspoken things that Hornet hung on to. Some words and phrases others often said still felt foreign in her mouth, and she felt self-conscious speaking them. Nevertheless, she still hoped her mother got the message. Fastening her needle to her back, Hornet turned away from the plinth and began making her way out. On her way, she passed by the weaver nearby the weaving workshop, and nodded respectfully to them as she crossed their path.

“Queen Hornet,” the weaver greeted. “Good day. Off hunting?”

“Not today, weaver,” Hornet sighed. “Today I am on official business.”

“Every day you are on official business, my Queen. Just as well, if you’re going out, why not set up a web on your way? You might catch something on the way back and have a snack for the trip.” Their claws worked quickly, their web spinning itself into a simple weave reminiscent of a vengefly. Hornet forced herself to chuckle.

“A vengefly would hardly be enough to sate my appetite,” she joked.

“Ah, of course, my apologies.” The weaver’s claws again became a blur of motion, and their weave had changed from a vengefly to a dirt carver. “Perhaps you could catch yourself one of these. Or maybe even a garpede, if you’re feeling daring, my Queen.” Their eyes sparkled with playfulness, like the kind that eyes might have when trying to calm down a child.

“On any other day I would accept, but I doubt the stag would want me spinning webs in his tunnels.”

“Oh, you’re taking the stag?” The weaver’s head tilted in confusion. “Don’t you normally walk?”

“Yes, but the stag is quicker, and I am in somewhat of a hurry,” Hornet said, inching away towards the entrance.

“Ah, well I won’t keep you then,” said the weaver, getting the message. “Perhaps when you get back, you could stop by and see some of the weaves I’ve been working on? I think a couple have great potential, but I’d like your input on them.”

“I doubt a true weaver would need any help from me, but I’ll gladly take you up on the offer,” Hornet said, and meant it. The weaver bowed.

“My Queen, I always welcome your help. I look forward to seeing you next.”

“You as well,” Hornet finished, turning away and continuing her way out. As she passed by the entrance to the workshop where all her weavers worked, she glanced inside and stopped mid stride.

“Weaver, where are all the workers?” The workshop, normally full with the sounds of quiet conversation and thread being coaxed into intricate shapes, was silent and empty. Dust was gathering on the unused tools and desks, and it looked unchanged from how it was left yesterday, when all of Hornet’s employees had left. The weaver turned around and called from down the hallway,

“I thought you knew. I had assumed you’d given them the day off.” Hornet shook her head.

“I did no such thing!” The weaver shrugged.

“Then I have not the answers you seek. Maybe they all got eaten.” Seeing Hornet’s look, the weaver quickly added, “That is a joke, my Queen.”

“One in poor taste,” Hornet chastised the weaver, who seemed to droop a bit at the admonishment. “Do not forget that there have been disappearances occurring in the City of Tears, and most of them are worried for the safety of their loved ones.”

“I beg your pardon, my Queen. I shall choose my words more carefully,” said the weaver, bowing low.

“See to it. I am leaving now. Good day, weaver,”

“Good day, my Queen.” And the two went their separate ways. As she rounded the corner, Hornet sighed, bringing a hand up to rub her shell. It looked like some _actual _official business might worm its way into her “official business”. Even when she was deliberately shirking her responsibilities, her queenly duties still found a way to worm themselves into what she was doing.

Hornet exited the Beast’s Den and after a quick toss of her needle, stood perched on the platform leading into the stag station. Entering quickly, she rang the bell and sat cross-legged on the floor to wait. Yet, after waiting for a long while, the stag had yet to appear. Hornet realized that the stag was running late. Standing up, she rung the bell again. Had he not heard it the first time? Maybe his incredibly advanced age was finally taking its toll on his hearing. Yet, still, the stag did not come. Hornet narrowed her eyes and reached behind her shoulder to brandish her needle. It seemed she needed to venture though the caverns of Hallownest on foot.

She hoped the stag was only running late.

. . .

Like two tidal waves, the Great Mistake and the Ghost of Hallownest crashed together, Void and Soul and flesh and metal clashing and biting and burning. The massive abomination lurched forwards, its gelatinous flesh spilling over the sides of the Soul Master’s arena, its gargantuan arm thundering down towards Ghost, who dashed forward to meet it. Underneath, Sentinels dove for cover as the flesh smashed down, sending dust and debris exploding outwards. Ghost’s mind buzzed with cries of alarm and rung with shrieks for help as their soldiers—_siblings_—found themselves unable to contend with the monstrosity set before them. A burst of light, a power released; Ghost’s nail shone as it cleaved through the Great Mistake’s gummy body, splitting its fist in twain. In the center was Ghost, the two halves crashing to the ground on either side of them. The Great Mistake howled in anger and pain, and a shudder passed through their arm’s halves. Ghost caught movement. Grabbing arms and sunken, melting faces. Reflexes taking over, they jumped, swinging down their nail to get as much height as possible as the limb fused back together, its two sides smashing into each other and merging. They’d nearly been caught in it. Below them, Sentinels stabbed and hacked at the beast in desperation, but to no effect. Their nails were weak, the creature’s flesh thick, and they were not gods. Some were forced to abandon their nails as the Great Mistake’s sticky flesh enveloped them, and others were being pulled to safety by their fellows to avoid getting absorbed themselves.

This wasn’t going to work. They needed to get their siblings away. This foe was beyond any of them. They needed to take this down alone.

_Over the edge! Leap down! Escape!_ Their orders cut through the chaos like a sonorous bell and the Sentinels obeyed. The vessels tossed themselves over the edge of the high terrace, several carrying wounded fellows. The Great Mistake’s numberless eyes spun and swiveled, though its two main ones remained focused on Ghost. It grabbed and groped at the fleeing vessels with its massive lumbering limbs, but each time it might have captured any, Ghost thwarted it with a nail art. Each swing of its arms carried with it a tremendous wind, bearing the stench of rotting flesh and decomposition. As the last of the Sentinels jumped off the edge into the city below, the Great Mistake roared in anger. Rain splattered against Ghost as they knelt down and stood their ground against the massive creature, the force of its voice sending sheets of falling water away from them. White specks of soul energy materialized midair around the Great Mistake, like the many motes that suffused the Soul Sanctum.

Of _course_ it knew how to cast spells.

The magic missiles jetted down through the air like bullets, and Ghost dashed out of the way. The projectiles whizzed by their head with a sharp buzzing noise before impacting the ground with a snap, kicking up dust and debris. Ghost bobbed and weaved through the hail of soul bullets, bringing their nail up to protect themselves. The Great Mistake howled to the heavens and brought up its arms. Now it was Ghost’s turn to leave. One bound, two bounds, and they were away! Ghost jumped off the peak of the Soul Sanctum, flaring out their Monarch Wings for an extra burst of speed, as the Great Mistake’s fists crashed down on the ground where they were standing, cracking and shattering it. They had caved in the Soul Sanctum’s roof. Rain and wind and the Mothwing Cloak fluttered as Ghost fell, the air whistling by them. The Great Mistake’s howls receded in volume as they descended, bringing it down from “ear-splittingly loud” to only “unbearably loud”. Ghost crashed to the ground next to a small group of Sentinels, anxiously looking up at the peak far above them.

_O__kay?_ Ghost asked, hastily pulling out their charm collection.

_All accounted for. No major injuries sustained,_ answered the one in charge. _We are scattered, but fine._

_Good,_ said Ghost. They gripped the charms they currently had equipped. Normally, they’d work them out carefully from their carapace while they rested at a bench, but time was of the essence here. With a jerk, Ghost tore out the charms, spurts of Void gushing from the wounds. It stung, but Ghost didn’t care. The other vessels fidgeted as Ghost removed the charms from their carapace. It was almost as if they had felt it too. Ghost, however, didn’t notice; they were already equipping new charms. Shaman Stone—spells would be essential; Nailmaster’s Glory, since not even with both Longnail and Mark of Pride equipped they would be able to fully dismember one of the creature’s limbs; Dreamshield, for protection; Unbreakable Strength, to cleave more easily; and Sharp Shadow, to make dashing through the creature and its attacks easier. As Ghost pinned the final charm to their body, they felt the familiar surge of energy as bright purple scars pulsed all over their carapace and shell. The marks, looking like cracks pouring forth energy from within, flashed momentarily like lightning in slow motion before fading away.

Far above, the scream of the Great Mistake echoed, along with the roar of ages-old stone cracking and breaking. Debris began to rain down from above, and Ghost turned, drawing their nail.

_Go!_ They ordered_. Evacuate the city!_ Their command, and the emotions and visions which spurred it, resonated throughout the entire City of Tears, fixing themselves firmly in the mind of every Void creature in its vicinity. All around the city, Sentinels looked towards Ghost, saw the visions, felt Ghost’s disgust and desire to stop this abomination, and obeyed. Even the strongest vessel of them all obeyed their King’s will, though they were loathe to leave them alone. But Ghost insisted.

The small group of Sentinels quickly sprinted away, off to carry out their lord’s will, while Ghost waited. A black shape appeared from above as larger and larger stones fell from above, smashing to the ground and cracking the aged overpass on which Ghost stood. Ghost dashed back and leaped away as the Great Mistake’s massive body punched straight through the bridge and continued plummeting, shattering anything in their way, until at last they landed at the ground level of the City of Tears. Massive waves bloomed out from its impact through the canals and waterways of the city, which Ghost avoided as they glided down with the Monarch Wings. The sound of its fall’s termination and the subsequent crash of the waves drowned out the noise of the rain momentarily, such was its loudness. Ghost dropped softly to the ground close to the Great Mistake, and witnessed it rear up to its full height. Freed from the confines of the Soul Sanctum, it now clearly stood on two large legs, little more than stumps with knees. It had a large rectangular body, and a head with barely any neck set between its two shoulders.

Ghost held their nail at the ready as Dreamshield hovered protectively around them. Their nail glowed with Soul energy as they prepared a nail art. The Great Mistake roared and charged, a single pair of its strides clearing a whole block, and Ghost stood their ground.

. . .

Blue pounded at Yvera’s door and the mother answered in a fright.

“Captain? You look so frantic! What’s the—eh?!” Blue pushed past her and swept through the room like a whirlwind, looking for Laia. The girl’s caged maskfly squawked in indignation as Blue hastily grabbed the cage and held it in one arm.

“Momma, what’s happening?” The juvenile bug came out of her room rubbing an eye. Yvera quickly strode over to her and picked her up.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” she said, her wide eyes following Blue’s every movement, her brow upturned in concern. The captain quickly passed off the maskfly’s cage to the two of them and grabbed a small sack and a waterskin. Thankfully, the waterskin was full, and they stowed it in their cloak. They then quickly began shoveling provisions into the sack. There was no telling how long they’d be away. Already the instructions were pounding in their head. King’s Station. It would be safe there. Wait out the danger. Defend the people. The other Sentinels were already rounding up civilians, just like Blue. The sack filled, Blue took that in one hand and their nail in the other, slipping out as quickly as they’d come. Looking back at the mother and her child, Blue gestured with all the urgency they could muster for them to follow, _now._ Yvera swallowed.

“I don’t know what’s happening, but I trust you,” she said. Laia buried her face in her mother’s shoulder as she set off at a brisk pace with Blue in the lead. Far away, the cries of the Great Mistake rang through the city, and Yvera felt a cold fear pass through her. Blue, who could see visions of the creature through Ghost, proceeded as fast as they could with the two bugs in tow. Their body felt light; their knees seemed ready to buckle at any moment. Fear like a hot iron burned in their shell, and their shade trembled.

_Don’t look back,_ Blue told themselves. _Don’t let your sight fall on it. It won’t seem as real if you don’t._ Glancing this way and that, they tucked the sack under an arm and briefly pulled out their map to consult it. Yvera peered over their shoulder as the three of them hurried along.

“Where are we going?” She asked. Blue tapped the King’s Station on their map. Yvera’s eyes suddenly lit up, like something awoke inside of her.

“I know a shortcut,” she said. “This way!” And gathering up Laia, Yvera broke off from the main street and started cutting through side passages and alleys. Blue had no choice but to follow, worrying about how the calls of the Great Mistake seemed to be getting louder. If Yvera and Laia noticed, they didn’t show it. Yvera was too focused on trying to get her daughter and favorite Sentinel to King’s Station quickly, and Laia had gone into a state of distress the moment Blue barged into their house acting stranger than usual. The screaming getting a little louder wasn’t going to make the most difference. Maybe Blue was letting their anxiety get to them? It was probably going to be fine. Ghost had the situation under control and—

The vessel doubled over in sudden pain, stumbling to the ground. Their nail noisily clattered against the ground and the sack’s contents spilled out.

“Captain? Blue?!” It _hurt._ Yvera was at their side shaking them, and Laia was staring, her eyes wide, chest heaving with quick, heavy breaths. Blue curled up, clutching their thorax and beating a fist against the ground. It _HURT!_ Why?! Their mind popped and swam with hazy visions of crumbling stone and falling through the air. Pulsing pain pierced through their body; it felt like their entire chest had been caved in.

“Momma, what’s happening?!” Laia sounded like she was on the verge of tears. Yvera didn’t answer.

“Come on, Captain! Up you go! If you can’t walk, I’ll carry you!” The mother leaned down and scooped up Blue, quickly hoisting them up with a small exclamation of surprise.

“You’re lighter than I expected,” she said. Blue was too busy squirming and convulsing to respond. Yvera knelt down and retrieved Blue’s nail, handing it to them, and continued on her way, Laia jogging along next to her carrying the cage of the increasingly annoyed maskfly. Blue clutched their nail tightly, like it was a lifeline, as they were carried through the city’s streets. In a moment of clarity, they asked themselves,

_Wait, wasn’t I supposed to be the one doing the saving here?_

Meanwhile, not far behind them, Ghost burst out from a pile of rubble, still fizzling with purple energy. They hadn’t forgotten the sting of being struck while overcharmed. It hurt, but they were used to it by now. However, all but one of their siblings was not accustomed to such pain. Unbeknownst to them, for their full attention was on the fight at hand, Sentinels all over the city had suddenly dropped to the ground, writhing in agony just like Blue. However, most were not as lucky to have someone as ready to carry them as Blue did.

The Great Mistake’s fist had carried them through the wall of a large tower. Through the gaping hole, their enemy’s baleful eye locked in on them. The Great Mistake reared back, their arm winding up behind them. Ghost grasped the Crystal Heart, pinkish energy swirling around them; crystals rose at their feet. Blasting away from the pile of rubble, Ghost jetted out of the hole and unleashed a dash slash right between the Great Mistake’s eyes. Its face split apart, sending its swing wild. Its arm smashed through the tower, sending glass and stone flying everywhere. Ghost swung down, striking it with their nail to gain some height, and looked up. The tower was crumbling down, the gash proving too much for it to bear. Ghost dashed out of the way, wind and rain lashing their shell. The Great Mistake was not so agile, and screamed in agony as the massive tower collapsed upon it, driving it to its knees. Ghost hit the ground and rolled, coming to their feet and facing their foe. Bits of stone pinged off Dreamshield as the cloud of dust and debris reached Ghost. When it cleared, Ghost saw that the soul-fueled abomination was already slowly rising, its face knitting back together. Rubble the size of boulders fell away from its shoulders and smashed to the ground, leaving deep craters in the city’s streets. The Great Mistake roared once more, spittle and globs of gummy, jellified flesh spraying from their mouth.

It seemed unharmed.

They needed to stop it before it got to King’s Station. If they failed, there would be nothing to stop it from devouring everyone in the city. Leaping up, boosting themselves with the Monarch Wings, Ghost began to scale the nearest tower. Once more the Great Mistake and Ghost fell upon each other in mortal strife. Ghost leaped from tower to tower, gliding with the Monarch Wings, dashing, using the Crystal Heart—anything to stave off another shell-crushing blow from the Great Mistake. Towers crumbled and stone flew; windows cracked and waves swelled. Every strike from Ghost’s massive adversary ravaged age-old architecture, edifices that had stood proudly since Hallownest’s beginnings. History was wiped away in instants, erased by the fists of a monster. The Great Mistake spat on the countless hours of toil bugs spent laboring to construct them. Ghost was not the only one injured; the City of Tears was bleeding. The Great Mistake shattered bones of stone and glass and toil. Every ruined street or destroyed canal was another rupture in the city’s vital organs. Had it a voice to cry suffering, the City of Tears would have been howling in agony. Yet stone could not speak, so the only signs of the city’s pain manifested as fleeing vengeflies, destroyed buildings, and the fear of bugs that lay thick in the air like a noxious cloud of smog.

Violent fists were not the only weapon at the Great Mistake’s disposal. It conjured dangerous missiles of soul magic that whistled and gibbered through the air, pursuing their target. The Great Mistake flung all manner of magical projectiles at the painful little speck that zoomed around it, striking out with their cold, pale nail. There were globular, exploding ones that rapidly pursued Ghost, detonating when they got close enough. It also summoned thin, needle-like spears of soul magic that appeared in massive swarms, launching themselves at Ghost in such volumes that to avoid them they needed to melt into Void. Beams of light too blasted from the Great Mistake, but of white Soul, not carrying the searing heat or resplendent golden brilliance of the Old Light.

The little vessel danced between soul bullets and swooped around the Great Mistake’s massive limbs. As they passed by, the air currents from the limbs buffeting them, grasping arms rose up out of the amalgamation, a chorus of dissonant, moaning voices reaching a crescendo as the remains of what bugs made up that part of the monster tried in vain to grab them. Dreamshield hovered protectively around Ghost, its ethereal metal stopping another volley of soul javelins. Ghost tossed themselves around, the Monarch Wings glittering, and drew upon their reserves of Soul. A chill, and a gurgling in their shade, tensed and coiled. Power, building up, begging for release. Their form darkened as Void enveloped it, the vessel’s true nature rising to the surface. Their shade felt the cool air and the rain, and mixed their own Void with the Soul erupting from Ghost’s body. One, two, three massive bursts of Void-infused Soul shot towards the Great Mistake, their eye-like spots narrowed in a vengeful glare and Void tendrils thrashing behind them. The three blasts of energy punched through the Great Mistake, leaving no holes, but charring flesh and burning all the way through. It issued forth a guttural wail of agony and pitched back, clutching its chest. Ghost dashed for the nearest tower’s wall, landed on it, and dug in their claws. As the Great Mistake finally recovered itself and returned its focus to Ghost, its eyes widened as it saw them rocketing towards it, the determination of a creature born with no will to break writ across their shell.

This would not stand. This city was _theirs._ So long as they lived, the bugs within it would have no cause to fear. They were Hallownest’s King, and no harm would befall it under their watch. Dazzling lights of Soul energy lit the dark, rainy cavern as the Great Mistake hurled all that it could muster at Ghost. Dreamshield interposed itself between Ghost and the devastating hail of magical bullets. The bolts of silvery light whizzed past Ghost’s head; it sounded like they were in the Hive again. It didn’t abate. Dreamshield began to move past, and a stray bolt nicked the side of Ghost’s shell. Pain and violet cracks exploded outwards from the injury. It was no more than a scratch, but channeling the volatile energy of so many charms magnified the severity of everything they sustained. Dreamshield kept rotating. They couldn’t keep up the assault. They had to move!

_But they were so close._

Another bullet struck the tip of Ghost’s horn, chipping away a piece. The pain was like taking a bottle cap opener to an overgrown fingernail.

_A solid hit from Abyss Shriek would knock it down._

A burning twinge struck Ghost in the carapace. They had been shot through. The wound spat liquid Void behind them.

_They had cut down gods. One more wouldn’t be a problem. _

An explosive spell detonated in their face, leaving their whole body smarting as the searing energy washed over them. The Great Mistake’s face took up their vision. They could see the writhing forms among it, how they moaned and convulsed.

_ Even death was merely a setback—a minor inconvenience._

Another bullet struck true, and then another. They were bleeding out Void into the rain. Their shell was chipped and scratched. Their cloak was torn in multiple places, and its edges were singed.

_They were born of God and Void._

Even if they died, they would take this hideous beast down with them. Ghost knew they would recover. They could not say the same for the Great Mistake.

_No cost too great._

A dark shape appeared in the corner of their vision. Wait, was that—

_ **WHAM!** _

The Great Mistake swatted Ghost out of the air like an impudent fly. They hadn’t been quick enough. Agony cascaded across their body, exploding in their mind like fireworks. Across the city, Sentinels fell to the ground and seized, their minds taken along with Ghost’s by the excruciating pain. The world spun as they fell, tumbling through the air. Towers and streets, rain and light; a blur of color and sensation and sound and _hurt._

_Crunch._

They crashed to the ground in a heap, landing in the middle of the street. Before them, many blocks down, the distant sight of King’s Station was in view. Void pooled beneath them as their wounds wept the sticky, tar-like substance. Ghost, shaking, tried to stand back up, but their knees buckled underneath them, and they stumbled to the ground. Void dripped from their body. Their shell felt like it would split apart.

_No will to break._

Digging their nail into the ground, Ghost forced themselves to their knees, and then dragged a foot underneath themselves. Even in their grievously wounded state, they still fully intended to cut down this monster. Even if the words of their father were poisonous and hardly applicable to them anymore, they could still take strength from the sublimity of their meaning.

Looking up, they saw the Great Mistake’s towering form frowning over them, its face shrouded in darkness and rain from the ground level. It took a thundering step forward with a growl that shook the earth. Still, Ghost would not back down. Retreat was not in a vessel’s vocabulary. They were made to fight and kill and die. The dying vessel took a staggering step forward and fell to a knee once again, their nail nearly slipping out of their grip. The Great Mistake had paused its advance and now was staring down at Ghost. Slowly, a grin split its face and it began to laugh. Its chortle echoed through the injured city, a booming, discordant symphony of clashing voices.

Ghost gripped their nail tightly. Motes of Void bubbled away from them, and drips of Void painted the ground below. They still had some Soul left. Focusing hard, they willed their body back together. Their carapace knit together its dripping wounds and their shell sealed the many hairline fractures it had sustained. The Great Mistake saw this and cut its laughter short. Raising an arm, it summoned another terrible wave of magical projectiles. On the ground, stationary, there was no hope Ghost would be able to dodge them all.

Their Focus ended. Their Soul had run dry. It was enough for them to stand, so they did. Holding out their nail before them, Ghost assumed a fighting stance.

Far behind them, Yvera was dragging a convulsing Blue towards the entrance to the King’s Station, since they were seizing far too violently to carry.

“Come on!” Called a voice. “Get inside! Quickly!” All around her, vessels were collapsed on the ground, writhing in pain. Their nails lay forgotten at their sides.

“Momma, we have to go!” Laia cried.

“Laia, run! Get inside, dear. I’ll be right behind you,” Yvera urged.

“You have to come too!” The younger bug had an arm around her mother and was attempting to drag her away with all her might.

“Daughter, for once in your life, just listen to me! Go! Do not wait for me! NOW!” Yvera shrieked, desperation and fury in her eyes. Laia cowered, stepping away. Far in the distance, the Great Mistake loomed. The little girl’s eyes darted from her mother to the seizing Captain to the cursed abomination slowly advancing. Without another word, Laia turned and started sprinting for King’s Station.

“Get in here, girl! Quickly!” A hunched over bug with a long beard took her by the hand and pulled her in, pushing her firmly behind him and the small group of bugs crowding the entrance.

“Oi! Leave the damn creature! Get inside before that _thing_ gets any closer!” He yelled, raising his hands to the sides of his mouth. If Yvera heard him, she chose to ignore him, pulling Blue along. The old bug huffed.

“Wyrm-damned heroes. This city’s still full of them,” he growled. “There’s no use trying to save them! They’re all stuck like this! Save yourself, you damn fool!” Still, Yvera stubbornly continued to drag Blue.

“Come _on,_ Captain! We have to go! Please!” She pleaded. Blue did not answer. Their world was nothing but white-hot pain. Every inch of their body screamed in torment. They screamed and wailed, but nothing came out. Their shade spasmed in the throes of pain. They didn’t even hear Yvera.

_“Momma!”_ Laia shouted, but it was no use. She didn’t answer. Tears welled up in her eyes. Suddenly, someone cried out from within.

“Look out! Make way!” The bug by her side turned around and gasped, quickly pulling her away from the entrance. A blur of movement—something massive—sped past her. Ahead, Yvera gasped in surprise as something large bounded over her, heading for the Great Mistake. The moment passed, the unknown bug faded from clear view, and Yvera returned her attention to dragging Blue. Not but a few seconds later, a massive explosion rocked the ground like an earthquake, and Yvera found herself slipping and falling. A blinding light suddenly flashed from ahead, where the Great Mistake was. The sound shattered windows and sent everyone in the vicinity reeling. Yvera covered her tympanal organs, scrunched her eyes closed, and screamed, but she couldn’t hear it. She couldn’t hear anything.

“Oh, Wyrm. Oh, gods,” she whimpered. Behind her, Laia was also covering her tympanal organs, crying from the pain. She wailed and cowered on the ground, while the old bug next to her cursed and swore. Slowly, the silence began to fade away, replaced by an intense ringing sound. Yvera felt blood on her hands. Laia cried for her mother.

In the distance, the Great Mistake guffawed once more. A crater and dust was all that remained of their enemy.

. . .

Ghost’s vision was fuzzy. Their head swam. The world spun. Dark, it was _dark._ Were they dead? They’d never remembered what it felt like after the fact. Like a dream, their memory of unexistence always fled from them once they awoke. They tried to move their head, and their face brushed against something cold and hard. They squirmed, but found their body bound. They had a momentary burst of panic. What was happening?!

Their bindings tightened, and they were pressed up against that cold hardness in front of them. Emotions buffeted their mind as they were held there: regret and pain, and the sting of fear. The visions came flooding in—staring up, the roof of the cavern indiscernible, raindrops splattering on their shell and into their eyes. The cold, hard, wet rock beneath them. A ringing in their ears. They saw from so many eyes at once. Different parts of the city, surrounded by fearful bugs. Alleys and streets covered in shattered glass. King’s station. Looking up at a bug they loved with clarity for the first time in what felt like an eternity. She wasn’t looking at them, but beyond. They—no, whoever they were looking through—turned their head and saw it. Looming, terrible, an amalgamate of flesh and horror, powered by soul and the sins of their King: the Great Mistake, swaggering confidently towards the King’s Station. Ghost struggled against the bindings holding them in place, banishing the visions from their mind. Where were they!?

Their bindings loosened, and they felt themselves brought back and gingerly set on the ground. The dark thing they had been held up against was a body of a vessel. They were in a building, its windows blown out. Glass pricked their carapace, and the ground shook. The pungent stench of rotting bugs and death wafted through the air, but Ghost could not smell it. The Great Mistake was near. Nearer still was the Hollow Knight, hunched protectively over Ghost. Why were they here? They were supposed to be at King’s Station, protecting those within. If Ghost fell, they needed to be the last line of defense.

_Sibling,_ Ghost whimpered. Hollow shushed them, pressing their shell firmly against Ghost’s. It felt like love and pity and worry. Their mind was battered like a ship in a storm by Hollow’s tumultuous emotions; the larger vessel opened themselves up to Ghost for a moment, before closing themselves off again. The bitter taste of anxiety at the thought of losing a loved one filled Ghost’s nonexistent mouth with cotton and stayed their tongue, not originating from themselves but from Hollow. They did not object when Hollow pulled away and rose a bit more. They were still crouched down and leaned over, their horns just scraping the ceiling of the room they were in.

_**Stay here,**_ Hollow said. Before Ghost had time to object, their sibling was gone in a flash of shadow.

...Screw that! Ghost rolled over and scrambled to their feet in hot pursuit of Hollow. They hadn’t gone far. Hollow felt their presence close behind and reached out to Ghost in their mind.

_ **Sibling, don’t. Too dangerous. Injured.** _

_No!_ Ghost cried. _Will not let sibling get hurt._ Hollow huffed. Their words, spurts of emotion and feeling given meaning, were exchanged like lightning, or the blows of two warriors. Although the Great Mistake was nearly before them, they had plenty of time for a full conversation. The mind worked far quicker than the body.

_ **What do you think I’m doing?** _

_Going alone!_

_**Am a knight. Duty. Honor. Privilege.**_ It was true. They had hewn down numberless hordes of Infected bugs. They had stood alone against a screaming god for time out of memory and history. They were the Pure Vessel, their King’s flawless warrior.

_No! _Ghost wasn’t just going to let Hollow be a big damn hero like that. If they had failed, Hollow would too. Although they’d never admit it, they remembered slaying their sibling countless times in Godhome. They remembered when a single one of the Pure Vessel’s blows was enough to split their shell in two and fling them unceremoniously back into the Hall of Gods. They remembered the exhaustion contending with their sibling when their stamina and vitality were boosted to obscene levels from the attunement of the Godseekers. They remembered being broken down, again and again, and getting up each time and raising their nail in challenge once more. Perhaps their sibling had grown stronger in some way since their release form the Black Egg Temple, but it was doubtful.

Hollow could tell there was something Ghost wasn’t telling them. They were holding back. There was a worry hidden away among the emotional impulses they sent to them in conversation.

_ **Why is sibling scared?** _

_ Why aren’t you?_ Ghost countered.

_**I am. For you. **_For Ghost, not for themselves. They sent over memories to Ghost. Training, fighting, killing. The Pale King. Buzzsaws. Knee deep in the sticky orange blood of the Infected. Transfixing a Great Sentry on their nail and tearing it upwards, splattering themselves with orange. This foe was bigger, sure, and more powerful, but it would fall just the same. They had never lost a battle, and they weren’t planning on starting today.

_Nails don’t work!_ Hollow felt their shade squirm at that. What remained of their right arm ached. If nails didn’t work, they didn’t have a means of killing this creature. At least, one they could rely on.

...No, they couldn’t afford to back down now. They were nearly there. Besides, perhaps their sibling just wasn’t strong enough. They were formidable indeed, but Hollow surpassed them handily in physical strength. Their nail was longer, their arm more robust. Did Ghost forget that they had a few tricks up their sleeve? Even without their spells, they were still the Pure Vessel. Not even Hegemol could have equaled them at the height of their prosperity. Together, the great knights might have stood a chance, but the day to test that would never come now.

Either way, now would be a terrible time for them to reveal their inability to cast spells to Ghost.

_ **Sibling, ** _ _ **go be with** _ _ ** the citizens. You are King. I am a soldier.** _

_No! Must protect!_ Ghost battered them with visions they had sourced from the Sentinels. They showed them the terrified bugs, the fear so thick one might get caught in it like a spiderweb. Their Sentinels could not defeat the Great Mistake. They were insufficient. Only Ghost and Hollow had any hope of ending this threat, and only together would they be able to stand against it. Hollow shook their head as they leaped out into the middle of the street, in front of the Great Mistake.

It wasn’t that Ghost would be a liability. They knew their sibling could hold their own in combat. But they had seen what the Great Mistake had done to them. They had felt their pain, same as the rest of the vessels in the City of Tears. It had torn them up inside carrying out their sibling’s orders, herding the bugs into King’s Station, guarding them, only able to watch and feel as Ghost struggled against their new, awesome foe. Still, some part of them could not bring their will fully to bear on helping Ghost. Some traitorous instinct still clinging for dear life to the precepts their father had instilled in them held them fast to their orders despite their shade screaming and almost bursting out of their chest to go help Ghost. Then, before all of this, as they saw the Great Mistake looming over them through Ghost’s eyes, knowing full well they would not survive the next attack, something finally snapped in Hollow. Orders be damned, hollowness be damned, they couldn’t stand idly by and watch as Ghost died! Taken by the same mood as they had been when they'd sealed off the Abyss, Hollow had escaped from King’s Station and saved Ghost.

Hollow knew that going forward things would be different. A sense of freedom had blossomed in their chest and had yet to fade. It was like an invisible yoke had been removed from their neck, one they had not even known was there. They were not the same vessel now. They had crossed a line from which there was no coming back. Until now, they had never disobeyed a direct order from anyone—the great knights, the Pale King, or Ghost. Now that they had done so, they had opened up the possibility for it to happen again in the future. It frightened them.

But that was a discussion for the future. Now, they were landing in front of a massive, walking glob of flesh and tragedy. The Hollow Knight’s cloak billowed around them like wings as they landed with a thump in front of the Great Mistake, which looked down in curiosity. Hollow gripped their nail tightly, remembering their training. Knees bent, feet spaced apart, one in front of the other. Time slowed as they readied themselves for combat.

The old motions came easily to them. Their training, like their nail, remained pristine.

The Hollow Knight reared back and screamed, their head raised to the heavens. No sound issued forth from them, but all could feel the force of their wordless utterance. All who heard it felt a pressure in their mind, a crushing force that drove rational thought from them and left them feeling utterly _hollow._ The weight of an impossible emptiness crushed their minds underneath it, and they were afraid. Yvera whimpered and fell to her knees in awe, unable to tear her eyes away from the Pure Vessel. Laia and many other bugs fainted. Only the Sentinels, just now recovering and beginning to resume their hasty work, remained relatively unaffected by the scream. The ground shook with tremors that announced the Hollow Knight’s fury, and even the Great Mistake hesitated, caught mid-stride. The monster took a step back, its countless blabbering mouths silenced, the convoluted mess of minds and unceasing sounds halted, tamed by the cry of the Hollow Knight.

Hollow’s “voice” cut off, and they attacked without delay. Off-balance and surprised, the Great Mistake was unable to react. Hollow lunged forward in a flash; they were a blur. With two clean swipes, they cut into the Great Mistake’s knees as they dashed between its legs. The monster cried out in shock and pain as they fell to their knees.

_No hesitation. No remorse. You will attack without fear nor pity. None shall escape your blade._

The words of their father rang in their shell as Hollow turned on their heel and dashed back towards the Great Mistake. In a single bound they cleared the Great Mistake, landing on their feet in front of its massive head. Its beady eyes swiveled up and glared at Hollow, but they did not heed its anger. Their nail glowed with built-up energy. They still remembered what they had learned from when Ghost had brought them to visit the nailmasters.

Their Great Slash split the street in half, eviscerating the pavement, sending stones and dust flying far into the air. Their nail traveled up and tore through the Great Mistake’s head, bifurcating it completely, down to its chest. A great gash remained in the ground where their nail had scored it, and the Great Mistake’s body pitched back from the force of the blow. Hollow spun their nail around into a forward-facing grip and ferociously hacked at the Great Mistake’s exposed body. Its flesh gave no resistance, and globs of it splattered everywhere as Hollow eviscerated the monster. Their strikes were so quick their nail appeared to be in multiple places at once, and all of them left deep wounds on their target.

Yet, even without a functional head, the Great Mistake was still a grave danger. Beads of silvery Soul spells winked into existence above Hollow’s head, and their enemy’s arm swiped for them. Hollow saw it coming a mile away. Already their form had disappeared into Void and appeared well out of harm’s way. The spells impacted the ground harmlessly, aside from some damage to the stonework. Then, immediately, Hollow resumed their assault. The Great Mistake rose to a knee, smushing its bisected face back together, just in time to catch a Dash Slash from Hollow in the belly. It fell back, landing on its rear, and Hollow pressed their advantage. Not ceasing to hack away at their enemy.

_Attack, vessel! Do not stop until your enemy has perished, or yourself._

And so it was that Hollow continued to strike true, their constant blows wearing on the Great Mistake. Yet, although each of their strikes was a grievous one, the Great Mistake was tough, and despite Hollow's determination, they could not stop it from rising once again to its feet. Much in the same way as Ghost, their attack had to abate momentarily as necessary, weaving in-between bursts of deadly spells or avoiding blows from the Great Mistake’s massive limbs. Hollow dodged back as the Great Mistake stomped down on where they had just been, swiping at them with their nail for good measure. Once again Hollow tried to slice away their knees and bring the Great Mistake to the ground, but it was ready this time. It stepped in front of Hollow’s lunge, forcing them to teleport away to avoid colliding with its leg, where grabbing hands were waiting to pin them down and devour them. As Hollow blinked back into reality in a whirl of Void, the Great Mistake turned and drove down their fist towards them. With no other option, Hollow tried to sidestep, reflexively bringing up their nail before them. It wasn’t enough. They were clipped by the Great Mistake’s fist and partially crushed, crumpling into the ground. Pain shot through their body, but they powered through it. It was _nothing_ compared to what the Radiance had inflicted upon them.

As the fist rose from the crater it had formed, it took Hollow with it, the sticky flesh of the Great Mistake binding them. Hollow struggled, a burning pain setting in all over their body as the Great Mistake’s form molded and crept around them, forming a new fist holding them tightly. Vaguely, Hollow realized it was sapping the soul from their body, but more immediate matters seized their mind and held it fast.

Burning. It _burned._ The sensation of fire danced across their carapace and they were cast unwillingly back into the terror of memory. Their shell burned their carapace burned it burned it burned oh Wyrm _father please She’s hurting me __I can’t move I’m stuck __I’m scared __where are you__ I can’t—_

_ SIBLING!_ A shout and a blur of Void cut through the pain and the visions and the memories of a world of blazing light. A nail flashed, slicing through the Great Mistake’s fingers. Hollow felt some movement return to them. In their moment of clarity, they focused hard and melted into Void, reappearing on the ground some distance away from the Great Mistake. A small shape landed next to them. Ghost. Their eyes met, and Ghost’s were ablaze with determination.

_We do this together,_ they said. Hollow stared back, then nodded.

_**Together.**_ There was no time to argue, nor time for thanks. They had a god to kill.

Rubble and rain mingled in the air as debris flew, tossed to and fro. Blasting spells and burning Void arced across the blue-hued mist, illuminating the air like bolts of lightning. Ghost and Hollow tore into the Great Mistake, nails gleaming in the light, and reaped a bloody toll upon their adversary. The foul-smelling flesh of the monstrosity splattered against the pavement and towers as the vessels’ nails ripped and tore at its form. Dazzling beams of light and missiles of Soul energy blasted from the Great Mistake’s body and materialized out of thin air to lash out at the pair, carving up the stonework when they inevitably missed.

The Hollow Knight and Ghost fought as one, the former sticking to the ground and the latter whizzing through the air. The two of them fought like demons, jet-black blurs of speed and death. When one pulled back, the other would press the advantage; Hollow bought openings for Ghost to Focus and cast spells, and Ghost’s agility distracted the Great Mistake, making openings for Hollow’s punishing blows. Yet, their enemy was fierce and dreadful, and did not stay injured for long. Globs of flesh were sucked back into its body, and its wounds mended themselves as its amorphous form knit itself back together. They were preventing it from moving, but only just. They could split its limbs, cave in its chest, tear open its disgusting innards for all to see, but their wounds would not remain. Still, they fought on, dancing around the colossal abomination in perfect lock step. Even as the city around them bled and cried out in agony, the very stones braying for retribution, they would not relent.

Yet, it could not last forever. Small mistakes added up, and the vessels could not regenerate so easily as the Great Mistake. Hollow had the worst of it, their carapace and shell scratched up and shot through, chipped and cut. Ghost, wary of the Great Mistake’s attacks, and still overcharmed, did their best to avoid damage, but they could not escape harm either. This was a battle of attrition, and the vessels were losing. Although their stamina was all but infinite and their resolve was unbreakable, they were not invulnerable.

Hollow dodged back, narrowly avoiding the brunt of volley of homing Soul missiles. Their nail held at guard caught even more, but still, several slipped past their defenses and pierced them through. Liquid Void splatted the street behind them. Far above, Ghost flew over the Great Mistake’s head, unleashing a Great Slash directly down onto it. The monster yelled and reached up its hands to try and grasp Ghost, Hollow momentarily forgotten.

They needed to Focus. They had the time. It only needed a moment. It was now or never. Hollow crouched down, their legs bending, and concentrated. The familiar cool, pleasant sensation welled up within them. The sensation was not unlike the feeling that danced upon one’s skin being lowered into a pool of temperate water on a warm day, except it radiated from the inside-out. Wisps of pale Soul bled off Hollow’s body, the remains of their right arm again beginning to glow. They thought of Ghost and their sister, and the duty they had to their siblings. This thought anchored them as the scratches and nicks in their carapace and shell began to heal themselves.

But an intrusive pressure in their shell would not abate. Their shade quivered as it tried to access the _essence _of Hollow, in an attempt to use their reserves of Soul to bring the actual reality of Hollow’s broken, injured form into accordance with that fundamental being—free of blemish or injury. Something was holding it back, a fracture in that image, or a corruption lodged so deep it defiled their essential identity. A deep, indescribable noise filled their world, like static and fire and the echoed screams of a dying god. An inferno raged in their shell, scorching waves of heat ebbing and flowing, coursing over their body like waves. The pressure was almost unbearable now, centered on the crack in their shell. Hollow tried to push past it, enduring even in the face of that terrible heat (it burned it burned like Her it wouldn’t stop) and trying to steer themselves steady in the tumult of their Focus, but it was taking too long.

All at once, there was a tremendous _snap!_ and the pressure abated, but not in the sense that it ended. It had reached its fullness, achieving its ultimate end, and departed from Hollow’s shell with its purpose complete. At its completion, Hollow reached the climax of their Focus, where their wounds would normally heal, but it was not so. Pain exploded from the crack on their shell, and She appeared in their vision again, same as last time. Her blazing eyes, radiant and golden, pierced Hollow through like spears of light. The ephemeral vision was gone so quick it almost might have been imagined. Hollow’s legs failed, and they staggered to the ground.

_Sibling! _Ghost called out to them from far above. A dark shadow fell over them and they dragged their head up. The Great Mistake was about to step on them. Shocked as they were, their reaction was sluggish. Hollow tried to stand, but their joints wouldn’t move. They understood they needed to react, to do _anything,_ but their body would not obey, their shade still reeling.

_Move!_ Ghost screamed, the message dripping with their sudden fear and urgency, but there was nothing to be done. Hollow jerkily tried to lurch out of the way, but it was far too slow—and far too late. The foot came down, and they had done nothing. They were going to die. Despite everything, they were still a failure.

“SHAW!”

A needle buried itself in the Great Mistake’s eye, and it roared in pain. Its limbs flailed and spasmed, hands immediately flying to its face. The Great Mistake’s stomp landed mere inches from Hollow’s face. They were unharmed. Hollow craned their neck up and saw a dart of crimson red fly across their vision, gossamer threads shimmering in the rain and motes of Soul hanging in the air. Hollow could feel Ghost’s shock resonate in their mind. The jellified bugs that made up the Great Mistake’s legs began to grasp at Hollow, laying their gummy hands on the prone vessel. Their empty eyes and gaping, melted mouths, seemingly devoid of intelligence save for their inane blabberings, almost reminded Hollow of Infected husks. Hollow stood up, effortlessly breaking their hold. Their shell pulsed with pain, but they ignored it. Taking up their nail once again, Hollow leaped back into the fray.

_Sibling?_ Ghost’s inquiry brushed against their mind like a fleeting gust of light wind. Their attention was occupied on the Great Mistake. They didn’t have time to formulate anything more thought-out than brief blips of emotions or sensations.

_**Fine,**_ Hollow answered, trying to get as much sincerity and reassurance into their message as they could, given the more pressing matters they were focusing on (tearing into the Great Mistake with their greatnail). Ghost didn’t answer. They were interrupted.

“Ghost!” It was Hornet. She had just landed next to them, the pair clinging to the side of a building. “Whatever foul monster this is, you have my aid ‘til it is vanquished!” Then without any delay, the two leaped off the wall together. It was a brief exchange of words, but it was all they had time for, as a flurry of Soul bullets peppered the wall, a prelude to the Great Mistake’s fist crashing into it. The building groaned in protest, but held for the time being. If attacking Ghost was like trying to grab a prescient fly, Hornet was even worse. She danced through the hail of projectiles with elegance and grace. Nothing even got close to touching her. In keeping with her namesake, Hornet struck back with force and precision. She didn’t possess the raw power of Ghost or Hollow, but power didn’t matter when sticking out eyes or causing a distraction. Nevertheless, Hornet quickly realized that her needle was just about useless for doing any actual damage. She sought out Ghost, and the two met again, flying through the air in a similar trajectory.

“My needle isn’t doing much, but my thread may! I will try to immobilize it!” If Ghost gave any affirmative gesture, Hornet didn’t see it. They were driven away by needing to dodge a swing from the Great Mistake. Hornet sent out her needle, which struck true, diving deep into the Great Mistake’s body. Using the needle as her anchor, Hornet swung around, flinging herself up, far above the Great Mistake, and yanked out her needle at the last moment. She glanced to and fro, analyzing the situation, and privately hoping that Ghost was finding her helpful. The Great Mistake’s advance seemed to be halted, but Hornet noticed it kept trying to break for King’s Station. She could use that. The huntress reached the apex of her arc and dove back down, needle at the ready. Again using the Great Mistake as an anchor, she tossed her needle, pulled the thread taut when it found its target, and launched herself forward. Once her needle was returned to her hand, she threw it out towards one of the nearby towers that the Great Mistake hadn’t destroyed in its fury. Reeling herself in, Hornet impacted the tower with a crunch of stone. Ignoring her bruised body’s protests, she got to work. She was no weaver, but she could make more than passable webs.

As she worked, leaping from one tower to another, Hornet kept a watchful eye towards her siblings and their foe. They were holding their own for now, but it only took one mistake to turn this battle into a disaster. She needed to work quickly. Single threads weren’t going to cut it. She needed to weave the threads together into stronger, more durable cords, not quite rope, but stronger than one thread alone. At least it was a relief being away from the Great Mistake, where its revolting odor wouldn’t make her eyes water, and she didn’t need to worry about gagging and nausea.

Hornet couldn’t have picked a worse time to visit, she thought to herself. However, the circumstances gave her an opportunity to accomplish her goals in a way she couldn’t pass up. Ghost was a bug of action; words were subsidiary to deeds. It only made sense: they lacked the ability to speak. Hornet’s assistance during this trial would say more than she ever could with such feeble tools as words. So, on she weaved, the deafening roars of the Great Mistake ever ringing through the air. It did not pass from her notice that Ghost and the Hollow Knight worked to draw the Great Mistake away from where she was working, so that at least meant they were willing to cooperate with her.

_So they don’t want me to die. How revelatory,_ Hornet thought sourly to herself. Of course they would want to help her. Her siblings weren’t stupid—they knew that this thing needed to be stopped.

She genuinely _did_ want to help. Altruism and a persistent sense of duty to Hallownest motivated her just as much, if not more, than a desire to reconcile with Ghost. Hornet thought back to the worried demeanor of her weavers, the way they talked in hushed voices with one another, how the satisfied and content air of her workshop had given way to anxiety and uncertainty. As she looked around, taking in the destroyed cityscape, the ruins and destruction, Hornet knew this foe would never be as personal to her as it was to Ghost. True, there was sadness and anger at the disgusting carnage inflicted on the City of Tears, devastation of an edifice which had stood even though the infection which she personally protected for ages immemorial, but this was not her home. She knew little of the bugs here, save for the individuals with which she worked. She cared for them as a group, but not in the way Ghost did.

What was going on inside their head? Rage? Desperation? Hornet couldn’t tell. Their attacks were as ferocious as ever, and their shell as usual betrayed nothing of their emotional state. Yet, watching them fight, Hornet knew they were striving with all their might against this monster. Hornet furrowed her brow and redoubled her efforts. It would be a disservice to her sibling if she didn’t put as much effort into this as them.

Hornet pulled the last thread taut not a moment too soon. Looking up, she saw Ghost get slammed once more by the Great Mistake’s gargantuan arm and sent flying through the air. Acting on instinct, Hornet hurled out her needle, watching as Ghost’s limp form careened through the rain. They were a single black speck surrounded by a sea of rainwater, but she could make it work. The thread pulled taut, and she zipped through the air. Ghost grew rapidly in her vision, and she threw out her arm. Ghost’s head turned. Would they recoil?

Ghost dashed towards her, closing the distance, and the two met midair. Hornet wrapped her arm tightly around Ghost, the other guiding their trajectory. Behind her, beams of Soul energy split the air. It was a close call. If she hadn’t grabbed Ghost, they would’ve been right in its path. Yanking her needle out of the stone it had buried itself in, she caught it in one hand and slung it back over her shoulder. One flash of thread later she had covered her free hand in some sticky web. Ghost and Hornet landed against the wall of a tower, Hornet sticking to it with one hand and letting Ghost free with the other. The vessel clung to the side of the wall, staring back at her. Even up close, she couldn’t get a read on them. Instead, she chose to talk business.

“The trap is set,” she said. Ghost nodded. They pushed off the wall and disappeared through the web in a flurry of Void, landing on the other side expectantly. Hornet turned back to look at the Great Mistake, still fighting against her other sibling.

“Hollow!” She called, her throat raw from shouting so loud. The vessel gave no outward indication of having heard her that she could tell, but they disengaged from battle and began sprinting to the trap. They too teleported through the web, holding their nail at the ready beside Ghost. With its two opponents gone, the Great Mistake now turned its many eyes towards her.

“Come forth, abomination,” she growled, though she knew it wouldn’t hear. “Your size shall not avail you. I know not what fetid hole you crawled from, but you shall meet your demise at our hands!”

The Great Mistake was barreling towards her, its massive feet leaving deep cracks in the street where it stepped.

“Looking at your repulsive frame, I have no doubt you are the cause for the grief plaguing this city, as if it hasn’t had enough already!” Hornet unsheathed her needle, her piercing gaze leveled squarely at the Great Mistake.

“Though I cannot claim to be an immediate victim of your malice, you have wounded my friends and family, a transgression I cannot abide!” At the last possible moment, Hornet jumped away from her perch on the tower’s wall, the Great Mistake’s fist crashing into it not even a second after. Hornet sent out her needle, lodging it firmly in the Great Mistake’s chest. She whirled through the air, curving underneath the monster’s arm and up over its shoulder, retracting her needle as she went. Flipping through the air, dodging Soul projectiles and a haphazard swipe from the Great Mistake, Hornet vaulted over her web and landed lightly next to Ghost and Hollow.

The three siblings stood at the ready, glaring up at their adversary, daring it to move closer.

It did.

The Great Mistake took a step forward, and then another, and then—it couldn’t move? It had become stuck in the web! It couldn’t even move its head. Its bulging, furious eyes glared down at the trio, its countless mouths jabbering in anger. It was well and truly ensnared. Hornet exhaled sharply, a tightness in her chest loosening, but she did not lower her guard.

“The web will hold for now,” she said. “If any of you have any ideas on how to end this beast, now would be the time.” Ghost took the moment to Focus, healing their wounds, and then immediately sat down and started rearranging their charms. Hollow remained staring up at the Great Mistake, which was struggling in vain against its adhesive prison. Hornet took that as a no. Maybe now she could use the time to make some conversation?

“The two of you fought well,” Hornet said earnestly. “It is well to see your strength did not desert you,” she added, addressing Hollow. The larger vessel didn’t respond, and Hornet tilted her head in confusion, glancing at them for a moment. Their gaze remained unmoving on the Great Mistake. Perhaps they were just focused on the task at hand. Hornet didn’t blame them. Maybe she would have better luck with Ghost. But what to say? She could complement them, but would that be welcome after the last words they exchanged? Yet, it would be awkward and strange to just bring _that_ up out of the blue in a situation like this. Maybe a simple “I’m glad to see you” would suffice? Hornet supposed that would work.

“And Ghost—” the named vessel stood straight up. Hornet paused, surprised. Was it something she said? Urgently, Ghost turned to her and grabbed her hand.

“Yes?” She asked. The little vessel pointed frantically to one of the towers that anchored the web. Hornet followed their finger, trying to discern what had them so agitated, but she could already tell it wasn’t good.

It wasn’t until the debris started falling she realized what it was. Damn it, she had been a fool! In her haste, she hadn’t considered the _buildings!_

“Shit,” she hissed, already sprinting towards the web. The Great Mistake’s wriggling couldn’t escape the web, but it didn’t need to. Cracks started to form around the points on the buildings to which she had anchored the web. Rubble, first only small pebbles and stones, increased in size as the cracks widened. The Great Mistake, now with greater freedom of movement, continued fervently squirming and pulling against the web, only accelerating the process. Hornet darted up, following her needle, quickly trying to seal the cracks closed with adhesive silk, but the damage was already done. The Great Mistake was going to escape, and the battle would begin anew, but this time they’d have fewer tricks up their sleeve.

Hornet would have to improvise.

Spinning new thread in her hands, Hornet dashed up and down, leaping from tower to tower as the Great Mistake freed itself, looping new strands of silk around the larger cords of the web. One by one, the parts of the buildings to which the web was anchored tore away. Ghost and Hollow tried to stop the Great Mistake, spells flashing and nails swinging furiously, but there was no way to prevent what was happening. The only hope was to mitigate it.

As each anchor split off, Hornet gathered it up and pulled it behind the Great Mistake, slowly pulling the web around it, wrapping it up. She dug her needle into the ground and anchored herself using silk to as many things as she could. The sound of cracking stone and feverish shouting from the Great Mistake’s many mouths filled the street, and Hornet dug in her feet, bracing herself. Grunting from the exertion of trying to avoid getting pulled herself, she tried to re-anchor the ends of the web to the ground, but it was in vain. With a last, final pull, the Great Mistake tore away, the web now fully separated from anywhere it once had been fastened, and Hornet went with it. Yelping in surprise, Hornet was yanked forwards as the Great Mistake lurched forwards, flying through the air. Without her needle to redirect her, she was powerless as her course carried her up, on a direct collision course with the back of the Great Mistake’s neck—really just the intersection of its shoulders and head.

Breathing heavily, Hornet reoriented herself so she landed feet-down on the Great Mistake. She came to rest on its body with a squelch, sinking up to her shins in its lumpy, goopy body. Hornet struggled and tried to get away, her carapace burning as it sapped her soul, but she couldn’t unstick herself—and she was being dragged further in. Her heart pounded in her tympanal organs as she realized what was happening. Faces in the Great Mistake’s body turned to look at her, the moans of the bugs that made up its form rising as they saw she was there. Meanwhile, the Great Mistake was trying to shake off the web, but it couldn’t; it was just as sticky as ever, but freed now from its fastenings.

Fine, then. If she was stuck, she would make this foul beast regret it!

Hornet threw out one of the web’s cords, working some of her magic into the thread so it wound around the Great Mistake’s neck. Then, she gathered up all the web’s cords in her hands and _pulled_ with all her might. She’d garrote the damn thing! The Great Mistake tilted back for a moment as she pulled, but then it chortled. It was laughing at her! With a movement of its body, it pulled back on the strings, and Hornet pitched forward, falling into the Great Mistake’s body, so that her entire front half was smushed into its disgusting, tapioca pudding textured innards. Hornet screamed as the sensation of fire enveloped her, the fleshy pudding of the Great Mistake’s body beginning to wrap around her, pulling her deeper in. Arms reached out and enveloped her, dragging her even further. The Great Mistake’s flesh began to push into her shell’s eye holes, and Hornet writhed in agony.

In that moment of terror and desperation, Hornet’s mind called out like a beacon in the realm of dreams and nightmares, and the Wielder of the Dream Nail heard it. It burst into their mind like a flood, overwhelming their senses. _Their sister was in danger._

The Hollow Knight too heard it, carried across the Void from their shared link with the Wielder. Immediately, the two stopped their assault. Ghost, who was in the air, redirected themselves with the Monarch Wings, swerving through the Great Mistake’s attacks, and headed directly for Hornet. Hollow dropped their nail and teleported behind the Great Mistake, and not a moment later jumped up, landing heavily on the Great Mistake, leaning over Hornet. It burned, and they hated it, for it reminded them of Her, but the thought of their sister in harm drove all hesitation from their mind, and they plunged their hand into the Great Mistake’s neck.

Hornet felt something firm and cold wrap around her, a stark contrast to the warm, moist, soft, burning insides of the Great Mistake, and the next thing she knew she was being pulled free from what would’ve surely been her demise like a tumor. She gasped for breath and looked around for her savior, and found them curled protectively around her. Her sibling.

“Hollow…?” She whimpered weakly. Their whole body churred in response, though it was all but inaudible. Suddenly, a new presence made itself known, shouldering into her space and taking the cords of web she was still clutching from her hands. Hornet looked down.

“Ghost?” They were close, their shells practically almost touching, but Ghost wasn’t looking at her. They were looking up at Hollow, who nodded. Hornet realized what they were about to do.

“Ghost, wait!” But it was too late. Hornet all of a sudden felt the world go impossibly cold, like being frozen alive, and sight fled from her. Then, in an instant, it was over, and she was face-down on the street in front of the Great Mistake. She gasped for breath, coughing and retching, curled up on the ground, but she was safe. That was what the Hollow Knight told Ghost.

Good. They were glad she was safe.

On the nape of the Great Mistake’s neck, Ghost stood with the web’s cords in their hands.

_ **How dare you,** _ Ghost growled, though they knew it wouldn’t hear.

_ **How DARE you!** _ Ghost wrapped the cords around their arms and wrists, encasing them in web, and pulled. Their legs burned as they were slowly pulled further in, but they didn’t care. They pulled as hard as they could, the Great Mistake beginning to pitch back, its arms scrabbling for them, but unable to reach the vessel on its back. The force on the cords was so great they began to dig into Ghost’s carapace, Void beginning to drip from their arms and wrists. The wounds were of no consequence. All that mattered was that the Great Mistake _ died. _

Below, Hornet looked up in amazement as she saw Ghost bending the Great Mistake’s body to their will.

“Such strength in so small a body...” she whispered in wonder.

Ghost pulled and pulled, but it wasn’t enough. They needed _ more. _ They had sunk into the Great Mistake’s body up to their waist now. It felt like their entire lower half was on fire, but they wouldn’t relent. Crystals began to push their way out of the Great Mistake’s flesh as Ghost charged up the Crystal Heart. Hollow retrieved their nail and stood protectively in front of Hornet.

With an explosion of flesh and crystal and Soul, Ghost blasted off from the Great Mistake’s neck, freeing themselves from its clutches and pulling the web taut. There, suspended in midair, they remained, held back by the web, unable to move any further while they were still tethered to the Great Mistake. The abomination itself was now fighting furiously against the force of the web, its eyes bugging out and mouths wailing. The two were locked in a stalemate. One of them would have to give.

Something rose up in Ghost as they were held there, rain pelting them, bleeding Void, listening to the mad gibberings of dead bugs and feeling the eyes of the entire city on them. It yearned for release, to burst forth.

Power.

Power enough to overcome this foe.

It wouldn’t be the first time they’d corrupted something with Void.

The blood from Ghost bled down, trailing up their arms in defiance of gravity. It collected in their cloak, in the place where they stored all the boons they had gained in their travels, running up the Crystal Heart and suffusing it with Void energy. Ghost felt the power rush into them as they absorbed the Crystal Heart, incorporating it into their being, and the crystal’s energy turned dark and shadowy. Crystals from the Crystal Peak were connected in some way with the Radiance; their light was refracted, similar to hers. Ghost had devoured the Radiance, and they would devour this light too.

An ear-splitting roar reverberated through the city, toppling weakened buildings and shattering unharmed windows, and Ghost rocketed forward in a burst of shadow. Void spilled over their body and their shade came forth, its skirt-like tendrils trailing behind it as it propelled itself forward with pure Void. The Great Mistake finally lost its balance and fell backwards, being dragged away by Ghost. Its screams did not fade, but it was being pulled away from King’s Station with no sign of stopping any time soon. Hornet watched, awestruck, as the mist and rain began to swallow up the Great Mistake’s immense form. The huntress looked up to Hollow, and finally, they reciprocated. Hollow knelt down and firmly pressed their shell against Hornet’s. They had missed her so much. Hornet sighed and placed a hand on her sibling’s cheek, allowing herself to enjoy the moment while it lasted.

In that moment of peace, she finally noticed something she had failed to perceive until them. Hornet gasped.

“Hollow,” she whispered, running her hand over their shell. The vessel pulled away in confusion.

“Your shell,” she gasped. Their shell had cracked even further, now continuing below their eye and curling around the back of their head. They tilted their head in concern.

“It’s cracked even more. You’re injured. Look,” she said, pointing to a nearby puddle. Hollow obeyed, and saw the injury in its fullness.

...No matter. They were a soldier. Soldiers got hurt. Hollow waved their hand in a dismissive gesture they had picked up from Ghost, then leaned back into Hornet, gesturing to her. Hornet was skeptical of Hollow’s assurances, but she supposed they knew themselves better than her. They weren’t in a place to argue right now. Sidestepping Hollow’s nonverbal question, she drew some thread up into her hands.

“At least let me help you,” she said. Hollow obediently leaned down, allowing Hornet to tightly bind some thread over the injury.

“It’ll have to do for now,” she said. This time, when Hollow stood back up, they gestured to her again. They wanted to know how she was doing.

“I’m fine,” Hornet said, brushing off her cloak. Hollow inclined their body ever so slightly. They didn’t believe her.

“Really,” she said, placing a hand on their arm. “I’m okay. I’m not hurt. It just sapped some of my Soul. I think we need to worry more about our sibling right now.” Hollow looked from her to the distance, where they felt Ghost growing farther and farther away.

...They really didn’t have the energy to argue with Hornet _ and _ Ghost in the same day. Reluctantly, Hollow nodded.

Behind them, cheers erupted. Hornet looked back to King’s Station, and saw a crowd of bugs gathered around the entrance, a child among them, as well as several Sentinels.

_ “We’re saved!” _ They called. _ “Long live the King!” _ Hornet addressed Hollow.

“Is that what you were fighting so hard for?” Hollow nodded. Hornet could tell they really meant it. They were, after all, trained to be a protector of bugs. This was probably the most fulfilled they had felt in a long time by Hornet’s guess. She allowed herself a mote of happiness for her sibling. She was glad they had finally achieved a measurable victory. They’d had far too few in their lifetime.

Unfortunately, it couldn’t last. They needed to get going. Hornet patted Hollow’s arm and tilted her head back to look up at them.

“Let’s go,” she said. Hollow gave her an affirmative gesture, and she started jogging ahead to grab her needle. Hornet took it up, tied a new thread around it, and tossed it forwards, flying away into the mist. Hollow, nail at the ready, followed.

Far behind, Blue stood at the forefront of the crowd, watching them go. Yvera practically tossed herself onto them, throwing her arms around the Sentinel.

“Oh, Wyrm. I thought we were goners. Thank you, Captain. Thank you,” she cried. Blue, still in shock, half returned the hug, wrapping their free arm (the other was holding their nail) around Yvera. Looking out, they saw a wounded city, weeping in agony. The sounds of the celebration were muted for them, like they were just in the other room, or far off behind a hill. The ruins of once proud towers jetted up from the ground like broken bones. Streets were crushed and cracked, deep lacerations in its skin. Waterways had been trampled and destroyed; flooding, like blood pouring forth from an open wound. Yet, as they felt a bug crying in relief at being alive on their shoulder, they found it difficult to be distraught.

The city was battered and beaten and broken down, but King’s Station was safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta say, I'm super happy that this is finally out. I've been working on this one for a hot minute, and I really tried to give you all the payoff you expect and deserve for all the buildup this confrontation had. I hope I delivered. This has ended up being the longest chapter I've written thus far for this fic, and well deserved, I think. Thank you for your patience over these trying months. I've wanted to get this out for the longest while now, but it's been difficult with the semester starting back up and me just getting SWAMPED with work. Remote learning highkey sucks, but being back at home and not needing to be in a dorm and get covid is great, and I'm super thankful for it.
> 
> If you'll permit a momentary digression... I earnestly implore you, if you are an American citizen of legal age, to please vote. I do my best to keep my voice as an author separate from anything going on in real life, since we come here to escape that, but... Well, we are living in extraordinary times. I have a soap box, and I think I have an obligation to try and use it for the better. Sorry.  
Similarly, I hope any of you reading this from the west coast are safe. Thankfully, I haven't been hit terribly hard by the fires, save for the sky looking apocalyptic for a few days, but I know there are many who are far less fortunate than me. If you've been impacted by the fires, my heart goes out to you. Hang in there. 
> 
> To return to the topic at hand: I've been excited to write this chapter for a looong time. I was finally able to get in some of the scenes I've been thinking about for a long time, and my word was it great to finally get them out. I hope I did them justice, but you all are the judge of that, ha-ha! 
> 
> We finally see the sibling trio reunite, and oh boy did they reunite in a big way. They haven't really gotten the opportunity to really talk through their feelings yet, but hopefully they will soon! I had so much fun writing the Hollow Knight especially, because they're awesome. I really tried to get their badassery to come across this chapter. The Pure Vessel is an absolute beast in combat, and I tried to get that across in this chapter. Speaking of: the Pure Vessel with nail arts would be actually terrifying. Imagine taking four masks of damage on attuned. *shudder*
> 
> I also took some creative liberties with Ghost's charms in this chapter as well. From a gameplay standpoint, it makes sense that unbreakable strength wouldn't stack with nail arts, but there's not really a concrete reason why it wouldn't work in-lore. 
> 
> As always, I hope you all enjoyed. Thank you for waiting. I wish you all well during this big mess of a year. Your support means the world to me, and I hope that my efforts can bring you some measure of joy as well.


End file.
